Poetry

Springtime; Those Two

David Chandler

 

Springtime

The days are longer and the leaves

are darker green.

“Spring returns each year,” the fado singer tells us,

“but innocence does not.”

My shadow leads me down the street

under the flowering trees.

Inside my head

my life’s cascading past

like people exiting a stadium

but that’s OK. You’re walking next to me.

 

 

Those Two

He’s let his hair go white

and she’s dyed hers jet black.

He’s let time run its course.

She’s stopped it in its tracks.

I watch them cross the street

with short, considered steps

holding each other’s hand

and it occurs to me

as time runs down for them

that they don’t notice it.

They like the way they are.

Change doesn’t change things much.