At the peaceful end of a busy street
In the dated old part of the city
Sits a saddle brown wooden bench
And vivid green blades of grass
Grow through its rusty legs
And some wild clover weed
Rain drops on a long abandoned
bicycle, locked to the sidewalk rail
Over to the side, where children play
Under the blue tarps, having called it a day
The street hawkers have their tea
A black car pulls over at the bend
A young man steps out and strolls
Dressed in a suit with a tie that is loose
A dazzling watch and leather shoes
The man sits on the wooden bench
And the leather of his car soaks wet
He doesn’t shut the door, and
Puts his mobile at his side
Which falls in the mud and he doesn’t care
He smiles as he lights his cigarette
It doesn’t light, but he doesn’t care
He closes his eyes and  listens to the rain
Sitting on the saddle brown
Wooden bench

Arqum (25/9/2016)

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