Shaking Hands With Fate
We sit across a table eating Pho;
two old friends, sharing food
and stories of our little worlds
Of my new love; my old projects
of his sweetheart; his old business
the dross men use to hide our hearts
We timidly tiptoe towards truth;
tiny steps in the deepening dance
of two old friends, carefully sharing
We talk of our ageing families;
my father's dementia and
his mother's parkinson's
He hesitates to use the chop sticks
that he's been so proficient with
and tentatively, he takes a fork
His hand absently stirs the soup
with the fork, as we dance away,
carefully, back to our little worlds
I feel the shaking of his hand
as we shake hands goodbye
and I wish that I could forget
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