Old People

Of course I am much younger than the old

man, my neighbor, his white head and legs

uncovered as he dozes with newspaper

in the sun. His yard is perfectly trimmed;

the garden surrounding the elegant green

is the wife’s doing, a riot of blossom in May:

roses, clematis, some German shrub I can’t

name. Oh, and a lemon tree. (In winter, it lives

in the glassed-in sun-room.) The wife is old,

too, pottering with her plants all day,

bending over in her rolled-up elastic-waist

khakis and on windy days, the fleece jacket

and her light curls all jumbled. (It is not

because I am getting old that I also wear

rolled-up elastic-waist khakis and potter

around the garden, talking to the plants,

or that I find myself sitting on the sunny

patio, dozing over this notebook.)

13 thoughts on “Old People”

    1. Isn’t it interesting how our idea of “the good life” changes over time? Thanks for reading!


      1. I love your writing style! Glad I found you via the Gargleblaster! Yes, “the good life” does change…although I wouldn’t say no to the idea of being like these people but doing it in, say, a cottage in Ireland or in the South of France, for example! 😉


  1. At the age of 71, I, too, find myself entertained by “old people.” They are so quirky, aren’t they? And they can dress so oddly. Thus, yes, I enjoy the details in the poem about the old ones and smile wryly at the irony.

    Liked by 1 person

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