Old Man And A Bench

Old man sitting on a bench
In the park
At the edge of town.
The paint is peeling
The boards rotting away
From years of pelting from the rain
But he calls it “friend”
This lifeless stone and weathered pine.
It gives him respite
At the close of day
Puts his weary limbs to rest
And brings a smile to his leathered face.
They sit together
The bench and he
Two lost companions
Fading in the darkness
Of the setting sun.

(Previously published in Bardo Burner, Jan 2000, no.12)

by Laurence Overmire

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