Aisling

Slow like in water is how people move.
Their walkers and they have grown into one.
Slow, slow, even dogs have a patient pace.
Walking the same streets, only seasons change.
They have been abroad once in their lifes.
Slow, slow, they walk to the local store
where tomatoes are eight dollars a kilo.
Slow, slow they carry one tomato home
to savour like the memory of that travel.

The pine queen knows them all, she has
watched over them since they were kids running
the same streets they are now walking slow, slow.

Slow, slow the old ones fall into the grave.
Young ones are moving in, turning the lawn
into asphalt and the shrubbery into lawn.
Digging a hole large like three dozen graves.
Where the old ones slowly planted flowers
the young ones are hastly building a pool.
Fast, fast they drive to the supermarket
buying five kilo tomatoes and eating two.
Fast, fast, dipping ther toes in the pool
and spending the rest of the summer flying
while leaves fall slowly into the water.
Fast, fast cutting down the garden the trees
apple and oak once planted by the old
because leaves are staining their unused pool.

The pine queen blesses them all.
Shedding a tear for the killed garden trees
she still loves the young as much as the old.
Loving them she does since that is her job.
But liking them she does not.