A Lonesome Bench

By
For Yetta M. Adams, 1950-1993


An empty city street
No soul
Looks upon the scene
A bench rests

With none near
Where did she go

and why?

Roads provide a destination
Glimpses of what’s ahead


Yet
This road was under
Construction
Like a roadblock or dead end
Separating her life
From safety
Why?


Benches are
stability
And rest
Sit down and find peace
not today
A bench
For the poor
dejected
humiliated
Room for plenty


Find comfort with your children




Upon that seat





Not tonight
Why?

Engines
Roar as they tear down the
road
Commuters


Jabbering nonsense
Brisk inner city wind gusts


Rip at your eardrums
Yet
None cared for her
Ignorance and
Oblivion

Led to a loss
A major loss
Why?

Did anyone look on?
The shelter

Was calling your name
Yet somehow
So far



away
Turning its dirty face
A wave
goodbye and a
Cold kiss

Froze time
Why?

What could have been
Is now
forgotten
The shelter


Became a morgue
An urban, unwelcoming site
The bus
will continue to show
Life
Goes on but why not
Yours?

Trees perch
Over the safe haven
Asking

who is this lady
A trash can
propped
By their side
A chill
That can freeze
The senses
One that should not

be felt
A lonesome bench





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