An ode to a bench

The bench is my favourite place in the world to sit

When the world gets too much.

It’s a place where I am a stranger

To all the strangers passing by.

The bench

This seat

It’s the property of the Council

Sure

Okay

But there

My mind is clear

As I kick away the pebbles and thoughts beneath my feet

And take company with the weeds

Dilapidated

Just trying their best

And that’s what makes it mine.

See, the time

The time is what stands still

At the bench

Where my best thinking gets done

When I am done

I can be at the bench alone

Instead of going home

I can be there

Stuck between two places

Dilapidated

Heart and mind in two stages

That is how I know this bench is mine.

Alone

Not too far from home

Tuning in to the sounds around

The booming bass of speakers

And the roar of the crowd

Strangely

All in the middle of town

I hear the sound of children playing

And the murmurs of cars passing by

Passengers being passengers to their thoughts

Like all other strangers

Do you think like me?

To know that the bench is somewhere like home

A place to go

Somewhere to rest your weary mind

And achy bones.

Though be careful

Lying on the bench is a precarious situation

All calm dissipates as fast as you can say

Walrus

Since that’s what I look like

Rolling off the bench

Standing up

To continue on my journey

All the way home.