Cascade

Old   grey    slow    walkers    cascade

with    small    dogs    and

sometimes    grandchildren    in    tow

down    Easter    Boulevard



That    one    follows    her    cataracts

where    ever    they    go    and

remembers    her    children



That    one    smiles    and

nods    polite    from    where    he    stands

in    the    park    at    the    end    of    the    road



There    is    no    bench    where

he    can    sit    and    admire    the    flowers

the    names    of    which    I    never

bothered    to    learn