High Tea In Missouri Poem by Donal Mahoney

They're the oldest couple
my wife and I know
and we're no pups either.

Peter out for a walk
leans on his cane often
to admire my wife's garden.

The English roses remind him
of home, he says, and one day
he invites us over for tea
at the civilized hour of 3.

That day at 3
we enter an old world
in a Victorian house
and are served tea in
porcelain cups with warm
scones and marmalade.
They arrive on a silver tray.

It's a presentation
one might expect
at the proper hour at
Buckingham Palace or
in a nice cottage in England.

Peter excuses himself
for a moment and I get brave
and ask his wife how long
they have been married.

Sixty years, Mary whispers,
and then with a tinkling giggle
she says whenever Peter
enters a room her heart
still beats faster.