Breakfast at the Diner

On a Sunday, they were out  to the diner for an egg and pancake breakfast.
He was old, she was old. They were both very old, so very old my heart broke.
So old the fork in his hand tremored the food towards his mouth with difficulty. 
So old her attention and her strength could only barely be held to her coffee cup.

When they were finished eating, he offered to walk the block to collect their car.
He hoisted himself up slowly, with the help of his cane, with the help of table.
Then thinking for a moment, he decided to first attempt a trip to relieve himself,
And slowly hobbled towards the toilet,  step, step, step, holding table to table.

She sipped once more of her coffee with a struggle to lift it and to tilt it,
Then looked around wondering if he was almost back yet with the car.
She fragilely, carefully, balancing from table to table worked her way,
Headed towards the distant restaurant entrance to wait for him there.

Glancing out the window, looking back and forth, she did not see him,
Then seemed to decide to get a better, closer look by waiting at the curb.
As she endeavored to pull open the door, I jumped up from my table intervening.
"Hi. He is still in the bathroom, why not sit here and wait," as I pulled up a chair.

"Oh how kind," she offered taking the proffered seat by the window to watch.
He found her there, paid the check, and deciding that leaving her was not best,
They began to leave together. She turned, with difficulty, to say again, "Thanks."
And they hobbled, step, step, step, old, so old, down the street towards their car.