THE BENCH

hello, my name is johnny
i've a story to entrench
i've spent my entire lifetime
doing service as a bench

now maybe you think benches
do not have a heart or soul
and supporting people's bottoms
is our one and only role

but let me tell the story
of my life and you will see
that benches are not just a part
of background scenery

i started in a playground
but the children rarely sat
the parents mainly rested there
and i could hear them chat

they talked about their offspring
and they wondered 'bout their world
where everything was magical
with life not yet unfurled

at sunset, crowds would dwindle
back into their well lit homes
then little packs of teenagers
into my world would roam

and often they were hardened
although behind the ears, still wet
they'd drink their maiden can of beer
and try out cigarettes

but it was not my duty
to lay down the law or preach
that's when i was uprooted
and was moved down to the beach

i loved the scenic wonders
of the sky and sand and sea
i felt the warm and gritty flesh
of suntanned legs on me

i watched the sun set every night
the rise and fall of tides
then one day tossed into a truck
for yet another ride

the roaring of the ocean
now replaced by roaring cars
i was a lowly bus bench
stuck between two seedy bars

it was smoky grim and dirty
what an awful place to lurk
i missed my sunny beach so much
i thought i'd go berserk

i didn't like the people
who sat waiting for the bus
they crushed their cigarettes on me
impatiently they cussed

but thankfully i left that place
to a much more pleasant scene
yes, i found myself transplanted
to a spot quite fresh and clean

a city park became my home
an older clientele
a refuge on their daily walks
when ankles popped and swelled

i'd gotten rather old myself
so i could quite relate
i had some cracks developing
my legs no longer straight

the city then closed down the park
for a new development
and like the other furniture
twas down the road i went

a cemetery was the place
that i found my final home
i have a lot of spare time now
enough to make up poems

i feel a sense of longing
from the visitors i friend
some longing for their loved ones, lost
some for their time to end

and i recalled the playground
from the days when i was young
the parents and the children
and the teenage punks among

i mused about my evenings
when the red sun touched the sea
and i looked back on the traffic
and the mad cacophony

and i thought about the old folks
who were moving toward the edge
and the silent ones around me
who had fallen off the ledge

and its been a wondrous lifetime
to these memories, i clench
just think about this poem
next time you're sitting on a bench