Shells in Strand Hill 

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Nanna, Mary, and I, 

join the 'foreigner's' window table.

He sips wine seeming lost in thought

Despite passing families, surfers, and cars. 

Polite acknowledgements finished —

Broken German/English  charades

Of origins become complex

Stamping some of his heart on mine.

An eighty year old man waiting

For his nephew's nuptials next week,

The family's return from strolling the strand,

Another glass of wine, the afternoon's end.

An eighty year old man waiting,

Grieving lost youth, health, white hair

Stolen by chemo's first treatment

Still kept precious in his camera.

An eighty year old man waiting

Telling of his pastor's daily prayers, 

Puzzling at a warm conversation

With a foreign Catholic priest.

We rise, shake hands. I say, "Alles gut".

"Ich heiss ,Franz".  "Auf wiedersehen".

With moist eyes, he replies "Good bye".

Then he adds,  "Willie is my name".

An eighty year old man, waiting.