The two derelicts: the name Mother so endearingly gave the dyad
As they set off to town for the greatest adventure of
The week.
To the town, they begin their march
Down the blocks of mismatched houses and cracked alleyways,
Breaking stride just long enough to finish a particularly
Engrossing story.
Tomorrow they venture upon the shore of
The glistening lake in the torridity of July
Treading in the twinkling blue until their legs dangle languid
Just so one can finish purging themselves of their new ambitions or
Fears that have arisen since yesterday.
As the moon makes its starry ascent into the midnight jet,
Because she remembers what she forgot to say
And cannot wait ‘till the dawn to tell,
She whispers in the receiver to meet the other halfway down
The silent lamp-lit street at the scarlet sign
Because with her, there is never an inappropriate hour
To tell the smallest of tales.
No, the adoration between them isn’t the
‘Till-death-do-us-apart love of Montague and Capulet,
But like the attachment of Huck and Jim or
The adoration of Anne and Diana
On their journeys through the defining moments and memories
Of their Young Lives.
Glancing forward some three decades or so
When all around them have found companionship with their
Office mates over the shabby water cooler,
The pair never ceases to find time or energy for
The lighthearted tales of the week as they begin their march
Down the blocks of mismatched houses and cracked alleyways
For just one more story.