Worn, weathered body rests under
yesterday’s news
so come morning to sing
today’s blues,
under the all forgiving eyes
of park bench sunrise.
People pass, high class worker bees
noticing only the virgin stench
rising from the sluttish bench,
but never to lose their disguise
amid the humbling rays
of park bench sunrise.
The clean toothed look is in
among the people of the park.
Their haggard soul born of others sin,
their guilt removed come the dark.
Who to wonder how these people fair?
Who to care?
Except those whose eyes
by will alone have seen
park bench sunrise.
