Sixteen

This week he turned sixteen
and he just can’t understand
why so reluctantly I place
the car keys in his hand
otherwrinkles
I blow a kiss and whisper
as he drives out of sight,
“Please,  Guardian Angels, please,
stay with my boy tonight.”

 Old Lady

I met someone old today
I looked at her and cried
Her skin was pale and wrinkled
Her hair was clearly dyed

The lady’s youth had vanished
She looked through cloudy eyes
Her back was slightly hunched
She’d shrunk to half her size

There was no conversation
But we connected in a way
We formed a bond, for we both knew
We’d meet again one day

As she slowly wandered off
We could silently agree
Though it was left unspoken
That old lady would be me

Copyright © Chris Oosterbaan & Joyce Snow, 2013