Sometimes it seems
that the world is full of old love-
men in handspun jumpers,
women in berets,
old people trudging the sand;
old men at the wheels of their cars;
tiny women slouched next to them
barely able to see
over their car bonnets;
cranky old men,
their dentures loose in their mouths,
sitting on the edge of their beds
where beautiful old ladies lounge
like odalisques,
their faces radiant with intimacies;
a gaggle of old people up the far end
of the beach,
while muscular dogs
lunge into the waves;
an untidiness of gulls
littering the air like
so many paper scraps
thrown to the wind.
