Poems by Martin Green

 

That Afternoon in Golden Gate Park

 

That afternoon in Golden Gate Park

On a golden San Francisco day

We walked hand in hand

In the Japanese Tea Garden

Before sipping tea

From delicate cups.

Than we sat on a bench

By the DeYoung Museum

And made up stories

About people passing by.

Later we lay on the grass

And embraced each other.

We’ll have more days like this,

Won’t we? you asked.

Just then the San Francisco fog

Fell on us from the trees.

Chilled, we folded our blanket

And hastily left.

I never did answer your question

Because I knew that what we had

Was as delicate as those teacups

And as breakable.

 

 

 

The Small Pleasures of Being Old

 

At my age I like the rain.

In my enforced idleness

I sit in my chair,

Sip my coffee, turn a few pages

Gaze out the window.

The unraked leaves,

Not accusing now, wink damply at me,

The unpruned shrubs

Sway like dancers in the wind.

 

My eyes close and I drift into a light sleep.

The landing of a solid weight in my lap

Startles me awake.

Reflexively I stroke my cat,

Who burrows in, purrs contentedly.

I stroke and doze, equally content.

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