They gather most mornings
at the Golden Arches,
old men, maybe wives,
or widowed and alone.
They drink coffee, black
and strong, or mellowed,
a touch of cream and sugar,
perhaps a bite to eat,
lingering there just
to share good conversation
in the company of good folks
like themselves, folks
beyond the years, beyond
the pettiness of age,
time, now, unhurried.
The senior discount is nice,
but they’d gather anyway,
reduced or not.
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