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He sits and waits

An old man remembering young love...
He sits and waits

In the doorway of the cafe

Shaded from the heat of the summer sun.

His chin hunched upon his stick,

He sits and waits

And he looks,

Watching beautiful young couples passing by,

Arm in arm,

In suits, and loose ties, shirts grimed with sweat

And tiny patterned summer dresses,

Slung over beautifully curved frames.

He smiles a wry smile,

Because it’s their turn, he mutters

It’s their turn.

But still he waits,

And at times he believes he sees her,

Untouched by the years

Without age, (because age is a memory,

And memories do not age)

Arm in arm

With a lover,

Who could have been him,

Many years ago.

He knows she is gone,

Living still,

But her life moved on,

Maybe fifty years ago,

And much has passed

In that time

(but her kiss

still lingers.)

And though he knows

He will never hold her again,

Though he knows,

She will never look him up and call,

Still he wonders,

If she ever thinks of him,

(still) he wonders

If she ever sits and waits.

2014.

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