Love Song Of The Ancients

In our dotage
when skin turns permeable
to the slightest chill
and sleeping in
means not rising until seven
we will take
our arthritic bones
for after-breakfast walks
and shuffle
from Sears to Penney’s
with a pause
midway to catch our breath
at a fountain
glistening with spare change
then proceed again
after I’ve helped you up
from a seat
uncomfortably engineered to
prevent loitering
our arms linked for support
as we wobble past
blurry neon storefronts
crotchety with similar aches
and befuddled by
what the future’s wrought
but together still
harmoniously resolute in
moving forward

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