Trent Lewin

I see him every day.  He comes to the park and sits on a metal bench.  He eats there and reads something.  Behind him there are trees.

When he is gone, I find what he has thrown away.  They are wrappers and newspapers.  I take them back, and at night, I smell them.

Today he is here.  I watch from between the rocks.  He is wearing a pink shirt and a tie, and black shoes.  He is watching the women and their dogs.  He is watching the children and their kites.  A man sits next to him and they talk.  They laugh.  Twice, he looks in my direction, but he does not see me in these shadows.

When night comes, I climb out of the hole and go to the bench.  He is here, in the air.  I lie on the metal.  I breathe against the stars and the holes…

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