160 years

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:

we indulged,

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.

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