J Alfred Prufrock Scuttles Across the Floors of Silent Seas

I saw you again tonight,
a new girl on your arm,
stroking your wrist, in the local
bistro

(well, it's a coffee shop with intermittent
music)

'We grow old, we grow old,
we shall wear the bottoms of our trousers rolled.'

The music doesn't change much,
and the girl looks a lot
like the last one, with a little more meat on her bones -
a good sign, I think.
She's too young for you, but it's not as if
it's a long conversation
with an old friend.
It's just a distraction.

'In the bistro, people come and go,
No one speaks of Michelangelo.'

The earth turns and the coal train
moans around the south end of the lake.
I'm glad I saw you tonight, my friend.
There's a continuity that should be maintained
among those of us who appreciate the river
and the rhythm of inland tides.