Another Park Bench
He sat on the once bright industrial green bench
Now worn to a dulled existence
The bench's boards swollen into their chipped concrete holders
He spread out the stale popcorn in front of him
For the pigeons to peck
Their heads darting side-to-side looking for imagined predators
When he dressed in his suit and walked with his oldest friends
Words would no longer form in his head
About whiskey, war, and women
He didn't drink
He didn't fight
He didn't love
There was no use in telling the tales of youthful fulfillment
The stories were still there
Of nights spent swilling and singing
Of battles of fallen heroes and bodies blown asunder
Of women bought and bedded for moments or years
All of that lived in its own time
He needed new stories that would leap from his tongue
And sing from his eyes while he wove his own music
Into a tapestry of now
Ah, the bag was empty
Time to leave the park