Old Friends

Old friends, old friends

Sat on their parkbench like bookends

A newspaper blown through the grass

Falls on the round toes

Of the high shoes of the old friends

Old friends, winter companions, the old men

Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sunset

The sounds of the city sifting through trees

Settle like dust on the shoulders of the old friends



Can you imagine us years from today

Sharing a parkbench quietly

How terribly strange to be seventy



Old friends, memory brushes the same years

Silently sharing the same fears