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|| The Two of Them ||

One hardly notices them at the evening club
Stiff, stony, silent, so subdued by the hubbub
They sit side by side, in their cocoonish tomb
Backs bent, like twins, in a mother’s womb.

He sits musing at the faded yellow wallpaper
She stares at her palms clasped tight together
Unlike before, no more, they need to speak,
Or, exchange looks with bleary eyes so weak

Like grieving parents at their child’s funeral
The don’t talk, or otherwise do they unfurl
Lost in deep thought they endlessly mourn
Times lost in oblivion, as they feel forlorn

Yet, once in a while, he turns towards her
As if to ask, “You said something, darling?”
Then seeing that the words are superfluous,
Promptly, goes back to his vacuous musing.

The tea brought already cold, they gingerly sip
He sips with a relish, while she seems to sleep
He eats his toast; keeps dropping some crumb
She munches uncertainly – cud-chewing, numb

Finished, he picks up the menu like a magazine
As she cleans his shirtfront with a fresh napkin
Then she folds the napkin, putting it on the table
To decide whether to leave they are still unable.

But, when they leave, he helps her to her feet
Making a feeble attempt, so childishly sweet
Time will be when he will be much more old
She’d have to help him up, it’s been foretold.

They’re only an odd couple, perhaps still in love
One sees them some evenings at the evening club
I get to see her always, in person whole of the day
Also see him in her pupils just turned pearl grey.

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© mikupa / 13 November 2015

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