I sat out of breath after walking a few kilometres
On a bench in the perfect shade
Halfway up Gran Via to the gothic area
The city was busy it was Spain's valentines day
When she gets a rose and he gets a book
The second time she walked past I took more notice
The third time she leant against the bench
The fourth time she sat
The fifth time she glanced
Thought… you can glance but cannot smile
Your face is tortured, unhappy, lonely
You are old like me
This must be so undignified for you
Dignity or loneliness
What a choice in older lives
How hard for you.
Then it came to me
How dare I theorise on another life
You don't want to know me
My old love
My mind is a bucket
Full of sad slop
Slowly I arose without another glance
And walked off
Passed the pretty girls and boys
Clutching their roses and books
And thoughts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a good poem about The Pick Up. good imagery