They sit bent over a creaking teak table top,
this old pair aged out in days, near the limit,
eating simple fare with well used wooden hashi,
worn as dull knives good for slicing soft things.
Rice, picked vegetables, and a piece of fried fish,
savored by both, this plain meal makes enough,
their lives lived simply, too, pleased passengers
riding a train outbound to the end of the line up ahead.
There’s little left now, mostly memories in this house,
built for just these two long ago, the line stopping here,
a small collection of kept items that will pack quickly
when their meal is done and it’s time to rise and leave.