Green Park Benches ~ A Poem by JP

POETRY ABOUT THE WORKING CLASS…

and the struggles therein.


Old bearded men drifting
in the alleys of night
have died with the sunset
and as I have overlooked
their bodies beneath
green park benches and bridges
they too have overlooked my feet
passing quietly by
as the waitress slips silently
into her second or third
miserable job.

I can see that she is no longer
with the romance of kids
and a husband to love,
she long ago packed away the luggage
that she so desperately wanted.

The coils of her golden hair,
disheveled and muted,
surely hide what was once
her bubbly persona
as she steps into her nice little car.

I see it all the time
the look of mountains of debt
and the pressed smile
that struggles from the lips,
and I see the children
who’d trade their toys for her
glorious smile.

I see the husband and wife,
who despite
all of their earthly love
are no longer in it.
The joy just jumped
out of their bed,
and it is not to say they don’t
still jump in the covers
and take that car for a spin,
but between the work hours
and the wages
and three wonderful kids
it’s a miracle that
more of the people don’t
end up under green park benches.


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