On this bench in this park.

Observing all the separate and different lives sharing the same space.

Two students sitting on a bench,

Books are open in their laps.

They're exchanging words with pens in their hands,

Doing their best to study for an upcoming test.

Across the way, residing in the afternoon sun,

Sits two bums, aside a rolled up sleeping bag.

One of em digs out a piece,

While the other sips from a bottle wrapped in a paper sack.

Their chuckles and laughs,

occasionally broken,

By a shameful glance to the students,

Remembering when they used to be them.

A young couple come strolling down the path.

His arm around her shoulders, her arm around his waist.

He must have said something sweet,

Because she looked up at him with a loving smile on her face.

They stop, and share a short, simple kiss.

I know in that special moment, this world didn't exist.

To them, I notice,

The nearby bums throw another shameful glance.

I assume it's another part of their lives they miss.


I shift my attention toward the sound.

It's a father and his daughter,

She's pointing her camera all around.

Tourists is my guess.......

For any tourists, this place would be of interest.

I know we'll all freeze, in this direction she aims.

The lovers are gone.

The distracted students smile.

The bums just look away in shame.

I wonder tho, when those pictures are developed,

Will she even realize the separate lives in a single frame?

A guy on his bike just rides on by.

The students, the bums, and the tourists don't distract his eyes.

He's literally here and gone in a blink of an -But I know why.......

His ear-buds were in.

Too in-sync with a rhythm,

To pay any attention,

To this community he was shortly in.

An elderly man approaches, and enters the scene.

Guided by his best friend, attached to a leash.

A cigarette rests lit between his lips,

Maybe he's thinking back on this place when he was a kid.

Maybe there's memories for him here that still linger.

I see one of the students point a finger,

Not to him, but to his friend, now being beckoned in the bums direction.

The man's adorable dog is gathering a little attention.


Apparently that was the last picture of the day.

The girl's camera slides into a case.

The strap slung over her shoulder,

The put away camera now swings aside her waist.

This father and his daughter,

These tourists,

I assume from another place,

Walk side by side out of sight,

In what's left of the afternoon light.

Giggles and laughter,

Two young kiddos trail after their mom.

One of em's picking up pebbles,

While the others trying to recite the Sponge Bob theme song.

They obey, while they impatiently wait.

For their mom has brought this adventurous walk to a stop.

She stopped to hunch over,

And check on their little brother, asleep in a stroller.

I'm sure this loving mother wonders, what will become of her children when they're older.

After she looks up, and looks around to see,

The students, the bums, and the elder are still here.

She shrugs and smiles, and walks on with her children near.

Iv been sitting on this bench for a couple hours I guess,

With a pen in my hand.

I'm here more to observe then to understand.

But there's a single thought I choose to entertain,

Because I find this a little funny and kinda strange.

Here we all are, in this local park.

So close together, yet worlds apart.

And we choose to keep it that way.


We're all very different, I understand that,

But we're also very much the same.

We're human beings,

Built of flesh, bone, and a heart full of feelings.

So how can we spend hours in the same space,

And never bother to relate with one another?

When you look in my direction,

Are you at all curious about my life and who I am?

Or am I just a mere obstacle sitting on a bench?

I'm a stranger, yes.

I'm someone new, yes.

But you could be a lot like me, and I could be a lot like you.

But you look right past, you look right thru.

So we'll both never know I guess.

Like I said,

A little funny and kinda strange,

But it's a question and a thought that often talks inside my brain.

The sun has now set, I'll let the pen rest.

For now it's growing dark, I stand up to depart.

This was an insightful time spent,

On this bench in this park.

The End

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