I see you often, weighted down
With the crush of ageing
And the companionship that
has become less comfort
Than choking vine, I
See little joy when you speak
Of the one you've grown old with
But your generation knows duty
and I wonder if mine ever will,
Too caught up in
all the choices we have
Yet as you shuffle
from the front seat of the bus,
bell pressed, bags gathered,
I notice
A trailing red wire, earbuds bouncing
Against the practical navy blue of
Your all-weather jacket.
I ask what
Music is in your ears right now
Elvis, you tell me, Elvis,
with a girlish smile, sunken into
The hollows of your papery cheeks
One day, when I'm still listening
To Jubilee Street, loudly on repeat,
I hope someone sees
Who I have been
With such clarity