A man sat down.
He sat down all day thinking
About the friend
He was too impatient to listen to.
The wife who had died and he missed her too late.
The symphony seat he’d owned but not sat in.
The seeds he had bought but not planted.
The love he now kept inside him.
Things he had left undone.
Things of no certain value.
He was in New York
Had arrived on the 8:49.
He was late so he took a cab
And when he got out
At his glass and concrete place of busyness
He noticed a bench.
Starting up the steps he paused.
He was drawn to the bench
Where he sat through the day thinking.
Thousands of people in fashionable grey
Scraped and clicked by
Only a face or two turning to heed
A man out of line, at a bench
His lips parted, his eyes in a stare
His cheeks glistening with tears.