The two old men sitting on the park bench
look in opposite directions
across the scuffled snow.
Both have hats, neither wears gloves.
Scarves are tucked into overcoats.
Their hands must be cold
and their feet too in the thin leather shoes.
Then they turn and look towards each other;
their eyes smile
and their fingers touch.
The ice-blue air is suddenly less bitter.
Tomorrow they will be here again.