My Santiago

Lovers at Seventy-Five

After that picture show, Buoyed by the zest of youth, And malleable -in the hands of characters larger than life who made vows unto death - They too made their vows, On this cold, fine night, Outside her parents’ home Two generations ago.

As they stamped their feet, And blew rings of frosty air,

(sharp enough to cut) against the night light, They rubbed their hands, together, furiously, almost as if they wanted to start a fire raging through their hearts, Never flickering, Always stoked by their constant care, Buttressed against the wiles of the world. By puissant belief in their feelings.

This, until the crow’s feet and silken skin — of age,

Nudged them gently, (whilst in full flight)

to remind them of the ravages of time, always hurrying near, and the immediacy of death!

And never wanting to contemplate life without each other, they kept their vow without fuss, immeasurable in dignity, At. Seventy-Five.

And left this world together.