An Old Married Couple Cross the Street

The Golden Years,

By some perverse reverse alchemy:

Rusting solitude,

Riveted silence,

A junk yard of could have beens,

All wrapped up in silence.

Italian by virtue of birth—

A foreign tongue in a foreign land—

Cross a Canadian street:

She, with a trail of varicose veins

Walking down her leg;

He, with the superfluous poundage of waiting

Baseball cap on his head.

The late summer spot-light:

Hand in hand,

Hand in hand,

They cross from one side to one other side,

Hand in hand.

Golden sun sunshine.


To beg, borrow, or steal,

A nugget or two . . .