Old in the City - poem

You grow geraniums

And crochet baby-bonnets

But you walk slowly

Every day more slowly

As if there were a rock

In your poor belly

You stay away from doctors

They'd send you to the hospital

Where pieces are cut out of you

And after that you die

Instead you walk to the park

Where there are oaks and elm trees

That stream up to the sun

With triumph in their branches

Where there's a secret nation

Of squirrels who find it convenient

To set up their nests in the treetops

Like vendors who set up their stalls

By the steps of a great cathedral

And sometimes you sit in the playground

Waiting for the children

Who come when school is out

They rush in all together

Throwing their books on the benches

And racing to the swings

Over and over again

Their feet in their battered sneakers

Fly up into the air

And their hair too is flying

A wordless and intent

Delight is in their faces.

COPYRIGHT 1994 Commonweal Foundation
COPYRIGHT 2004 Gale Group