Two Grumpy Old Women Looking For Two Old Men

Two Grumpy Old Women Looking For Two Old Men

Two grumpy old women sit, side by side,

With folded arms, and stubborn pride,

They watch the road, with narrowed eyes,

And mutter low, at passing lives.

“Where are the men, with sense and spark?”

One snaps aloud, before it’s dark,

“Not one in sight, worth time or tea,”

The other nods, in firm decree.

Their words are sharp, their patience thin,

They scoff at noise, at laugh, at grin,

Yet in their gaze, a searching stays,

Through all their sighs, and restless days.

For somewhere out, beyond their view,

Are two old men, as grumpy too,

With equal bite, and weathered tone,

Who sit and grumble, all alone.

One taps his stick, and shakes his head,

“At fools,” is often what he said,

The other sighs, “The world’s gone strange,”

And neither cares for talk of change.

They sit on benches, cold and worn,

Each day begins much like the morn,

With muttered thoughts, and distant stares,

And little faith in what life spares.

Yet fate, it stirs, though none can see,

It bends the path, quietly,

A crossing point, a simple day,

Where chance will bring them all one way.

The women glance, the men look twice,

No words are soft, no smiles are nice,

Just raised brows, and measured tone,

As if each claimed the world their own.

“Well you look worse,” one woman said,

One man replied, “So I’ve been told,”

A pause, a scoff, a half held grin,

As something odd begins within.

They sit, not close, yet not apart,

With guarded eyes, and guarded heart,

And trade their jabs, like seasoned art,

Each line a test, each word a start.

The days grow less, the talk grows more,

Of aches, of years, of times before,

Of things they lost, of things they knew,

Of stubborn fights they all once drew.

And in the clash, a comfort grows,

In shared complaint, a quiet shows,

That even hard and weathered stone,

Still longs, sometimes, not be alone.

So four old souls, with fire and spite,

Find warmth within their daily fight,

No gentle tale, no softened end,

Just grumpy hearts that choose to mend.

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