Wednesday, April 30, 2014

On Going Out To Breakfast With My Partner Of Thirty-Nine Years

We hold hands across the table,
laughing at something, gazing at each other
as we do, with infinite fondness.

A waitress chugs up, breathing heavily.
“Aren't you sweet!” she exclaims, and smiles brightly.
Meaning, perhaps, we are inappropriate,

adoring each other while white-haired:
we should be distant, grumpy, bored.
Some people like to see it. They're not the ones

who comment: beneath the voices
of those who do, there runs a trickle – a gleam
on the basement floor – of hate.


Sabine said...

Oh! Yes. A tad of sweeteness with an edge.

Zhoen said...

Those are the ones who only have hatred in their hearts. Anyone with even a little, genuine love, swells with joy around joyful couples who have lasted.

We see ourselves in others, reflected, for good and ill.

Laura Allen said...

She's probably shocked to see people who aren't ignoring each other while they're texting away on their phone. Every time Champ and I are in a restaurant, I look around the room and at least 2/3 of the people might as well be there alone, for all the attention they're paying to their partner.

Patry Francis said...

So many lonely, wounded souls out there. I think I understand their bitterness...And yet, the world so needs to witness love, to know it's possible--even when it hurts their eyes. Lovely, thoughtful poem, Dale, on so many levels.

rbarenblat said...

Oh, this is wonderful, dear Dale.

Lucy said...

'a trickle - a gleam on the basement floor'

that's good, very chilling.