on the side of a two lane road

on a green and rusting bench, he sat,

a traveler's bench, for those waiting for buses passing through,

this stop beside the two lane road,

a moment's rest,

for those on their way to finally going home,

or those who left their homes, many miles ago,

this place for biding time,

this stopping place for getting on or getting off.

 

on this green and rusting bench beside a lonely stretch of two lane road,

a quiet stranger sat,

a still and peaceful man with little use for aimless words

and even less for pointless conversations.

he had that rugged look, the look of sturdy denim and flannel shirts,

a working man who earned his keep,

always asked for nothing less, never expected nothing more,

just a fair share man, a working man of one week jobs,

fair share given of a day of life, fair share received of another's wealth,

a thoughtful man this side of brooding,

a breathing bit of solitude,

who had spent a lifetime being in the midst

but never being much a part,

a listening man,

a watching man,

a thinking man much more than a talking man,

a man who took his time in his inner contemplation,

a man who somehow lived in a slower pace of time,

an ambling time,

an unhurried time,

a man quite used to waiting,

for the next bus to finally arrive,

thirty minutes late,

covered in diesel dust,

filled with dusty people he had never known,

heading to dusty places he had never been,

this stranger who sat on that green and rusting bench,

looking down the black top road, now and then,

with him, i felt a distant kinship,

that i had met this man before,

at some another stop,

in  some other town,

but on this same two lane road

that takes souls like us to who knows where.

 

 

The End

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