A mother and her child
Sit silent, side by side.
Gazing in unison
at sky then at stars.
Two candles on a beach
Suspicious of strangers
Human traffic, passers by
Memories shared of memories had
Mostly awful, mostly sad.
I pass them one day in every seven
I'm shot a glare, that comes with their territory.
What if someone were to sit next to them?
The boy, aged thirty, decides to go home.
He shuts the door softly behind him.
I wish I could be like them