92 & 89 – found poem

They sit in wheelchairs,

holding hands, discussing this new thing they’ve done together, falling.

He’d bent to catch her fell himself broke a femur, now nailed.

He says, Glad we built that ramp. She says, Our handyman, he could be our driver now?

They stare into the face they know better than their own.

She says, Let me comb your hair. He says, Ask him if he’ll drive. Both with only briefly wetted eyes.

#oldage #poem