by Lynn White
I wonder where he has gone,
the man who would sit
on this bench
every day
in his solitude.
For he was always alone.
He would stretch out his arms
across the back of the bench
so that he filled it
leaving no space
for anyone else.
So there were no conversations,
or even “good mornings”.
Perhaps he didn’t need them
but he looked so sad
as all passed by
his gloomy barrier.
And now
no one else sits there
and I wonder where he is.
If he’s still alone
still gloomy.
I sit there
pondering,
thinking about him
my arms outstretched.
He haunts me.
© 2024 Lynn White All rights reserved.
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