Old Age And The Coffee House Poem by Vera Sidhwa

The day I met you,
Though you were eighty-two,
It didn't seem to strike me,
That you were 'old.'

Then you took me to that new coffee shop,
And ordered a Caffe Latte so hot,
Our coffees' energies leaped into friendship,
Of a kind that began from the Great Depression,
To this global economy's predilection.

But never mind about how this all seemed,
Our friendship bloomed like in a daydream.
From a combination of youthful impatience,
And old age's infinite wisdom and patience.

With our coffee cups half full,
We discussed politics and such.
We talked and looked at each other so much,

Then in the nano-wink of your eye,
I thought you would take me out again.
But you bid me instead, 'thank-you and goodbye.'