Still Life

You have seen them, elderly couples hand in hand
holding tight, on the street or strand.
She looks at him, smitten. You marvel at these two
in-love lovers fresh as youth.

When next they pass, you notice the he has aged
more than the she: his collar a little frayed,
his brow a little furrowed. Slipped half a step
behind, she hops to keep up, hold tight to her man.
A little hitch. You wonder.

His step must not falter, her trusting fingers cling
even as skin becomes a strangeness. At home,
his hands must play another, unwanted part;
years cannot roll back, he treasures her
yet there is no delight.