30 years

He was born 30 years
too soon, or she was born
30 years too late, if chronology has
anything
to do
with anything. He used to think, yes,
but sometimes, now,
he’s not so sure. He wondered, tonight,
about her in 20 years. Will she
still look at him
like now? Will she even
recognize him? How will she regard
what once was? He thought about
what it would
be like
to grow old
with her and how unfair that
might be
to her.
Or not? And is it even his
job to worry
about that. Perhaps it’s not.
Still, he wonders, more, now, than
he thought he ever would about
what
might
have
been.