Feeling a little nostalgic, I am posting an old poem that has appeared elsewhere, and within this blog. It is about growing up, but from two perspectives in life. The ‘children’ in question are now unquestionably grown-up. And the adults no longer have to pretend. You can hear me read it on SoundCloud, via the sidebar.
The children are ahead, pretending to be adults
walking and talking fast.
We are dressed like old people.
Even our stooped shoulders look real.
As does the grey hair, the varicose veins.
And in the authentic old-ladyish comfortable heels,
I struggle to keep up.
In a realistic looking lecture room,
using pretty coloured-in diagrams,
they present to us the future.
It is a good game for a while.
Afterwards, there are ‘canapés’
on paper plates and we are surprised
when they serve us real wine,
but, of course, it is in plastic cups.
Today, we have learned the price of coffee
in the many cafés we already know about
although it seems remarkably expensive to us.
They have shown us our favourite haunts;
the union bar, and that quiet little restaurant
on the corner – where we dated a lifetime ago.
Somehow it has become
a bustling Carluccio’s.
All of it is ours,
but our tour ends here.
The city looks cleaner than it should;
the air brighter and noisier
as if life was just beginning.