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 sun

The sounds of the city sifting through trees

Settles 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 sevent70

Old friends, memory brushes the same years,

Silently sharing the same fears