we found a thick leather wallet once,
in the middle of the street,
my love and i,
out on a vespa trip through the city
on a Sunday afternoon
late last summer.
we returned it home to its owner
who greeted us at the door
with gratitude and poise
and a lovely Austrian accent.
we left with an inadvertent reward
we’d put toward those next few ice cream cones.
and with that, it was all said and done
so we thought
and went back home.
but alas, he called back that night,
conscious-stricken for his pusillanimity,
asking if we’d indulge him and his wife
in a little beer outing
sometime that following week.
so we did:
and so did they.
and it was lovely.
and so a friendship grew
across these neighbourhoods
and beer and wine nights and songs of Frank Sinatra and hospital visits
and four generations.
always, she’d be dressed for the red carpet,
glamorously and elegantly,
entertaining with the skills of a grand dame.
always, he’d be charming and poised,
teasing her loyally,
cheering her on.
and then there we were,
bathing in their time, memories and wisdom.
and now their jubilee has appeared
of turning 80 each,
and we’re invited to the party
of their exclusive kin.
and we shall go
in our best dress
and drink and dance till morning comes
and celebrate a carelessness
that made all this come true.