The Wisdom of the Old Man

You carry your friends in your pocket
these days, said the old man
sitting on the bench at the top
of the hill with his dog overlooking
the higher mountain
as puffing I reached for my phone

He told me about his childhood
in this town coming up here
from below and I wished
we had held onto each other

And telling you this rekindled
our friendship.  You told me
the old man's wisdom was bogus
now you too have moved on

Is it wiser to go or to stay?
To hold on or to let go?

I carry you and the old man
in my head these days
I feel lighter that way

Perhaps you will spread your wings
and lift me up and I'll fly
waving at the people on the bench
up and over the highest mountain