One day when we're both
in our late sixties
you'll walk across the street
to my house and we'll sit
out on the porch swing
drinking iced tea.
We'll talk about our children
and how the years
flew by so fast.
We'll say
if we had it all to do over
we'd do so many things differently
bu we'll know
we did the best we could.
We'll watch the cats play
in the yard and wish
our children were still that young,
that they still needed us
as much.
We'll complain about our husbands
and fantasize about running off
with the young hunk
who bags our groceries at the market.
As the sun sets behind the pines,
we'll sit on that gently rocking swing
in comfortable silence,
two old friends who have known
each other longer than we've known
our children and our husbands,
who have been together through
decades of changes,
who still sit and talk like we
were sixteen,
who each knows the other's
every dream, every fear,
every fault;
and still love each other,
in spite of it all.