Friday, January 26, 2024


There were two, one

Stacked upon the other

Which I carried with

One hand, the other 

Needing the walking

Stick to keep us

Upright, and the cakes

From smearing the dirt

Path with white frosting.

It isn’t so bad being old.

No one will wonder if I fall,

If the cakes are lost

On this strange trail no one

Else seems interested in.

Out of breath I stop

And lean my stick

Against a tree.

Jessica lies down next to me

And licks the frosting from a cake.

I rescue the other for myself.

No one wonders or complains.

No comments: