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“Well now,
I’ve enough dirty knickers to be washin’,
That’s why I never got married”.

Now listen to them talk
For it’s hard not to.
He never got married 
or any of that other nonsense
That people bother with.
This friendly meeting at Stop No. 2-
Two warm bottoms nestled upon
The red bench that’s ridged like 
Unused strips of play dough-
Has them engaged with heads near, 
Eyes scanning the square.
See the pigeons flitting between
All the unloved and unexposed crumbs,
Petty ones mixed with big ones. 
Hear the funny truth left behind,
The crumbs too small for big beaks.
No borders with these two,
Only the flowing of words and
Speech without shame.
Thoughts of the day pass
Naturally and unpasteurized,
Rough and ready from the soil,
From one old head to another.

“I never dyed my hair. 
No, never. Never will. 
I’m an ugly little thing I am”

He hums briefly, 
Nods at her words
As he digests them and 
Gazes at the ground,
Then quickly up again.
Marriage, hair dye, underwear.
The topics of the day at Stop No. 2.
Then they part like the pigeons there,
Much in the way a flock sets off at once
In mutual psychic energy,
A resonant communiqué
That binds the chaos as one.
This rich stream that flows through 
Two old characters also seems to
Flow through another generation,
But one I cannot fathom.
I wish for that flow of words
Instead of staccato formalities,
Stiff smiles, and fear of the strange.
No fingers to point and no
Inflections of the voice.
Nothing.
No big deal.
Just clean empathy and consent 
Between two living beings.
So let’s sit here and see
What we can truly agree upon.
Marriage and hair dye and underwear.
Then let us part like two pigeons
After we’ve filled ourselves
With the little crumbs.

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