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On the Bench (Matthew III)


by Mathew Paust


He's in the shade

under the station portico at Bay Transport,

the usual hanging head

as if asleep on the bench;

too late to sneak around behind.


He'll look up in an instant,

win the day;

but you're not easy, you slow your pace,

step with care, do your cat walk,

turn your face.


Something glimpsed stays with you:

the wisp coiling from his fingers;

you stop, stand awhile, he could be gone;

you stoop, ease away the smoldering butt,

replace it with the dollar.


-- m.d. paust


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