When We Were Young On Walnut Street Poem by Susan Lacovara

I hardly noticed the glimpse of gray in your hair,
I thought it made you look distinguished
and it made me feel safe
when we Sunday strolled
the picture perfect park
and, there, made a picnic of our love...

Captivated by your sad guitar
and how your hands looked strong enough
to strum away my every fear...
I would pay the price of any admittance ticket
Now, just to hear your tender tone
But I was far too young then...
unassuming and dangerously defiant...
wasteful, when we were young, on Walnut Street

We forgot to count the hours,
and never minded the afternoon sunshowers
on days you'd leave work early
famished for my kisses....
We never even bought a bed...
Instead we made due, and made love
in the makeshift caccoon of body heat
Our synchronicity of breathe
swayed us into slumber....

Foolish formulation drew us apart
and there were fewer trips to the art museum
And eventually your guitar sought another muse
I searched the stars, for a roadmap
back to my New York skyline...
And left regrettably, without knowing
What it would be like to grow old with you....
When we were young on Walnut Street