He’s the one sitting alone
park bench corner of the street
the dew already wrapping around
naked thighs,
summertime,
bartime,
and he’s the guy hoping someone
might help him with his rounds
a beautiful summer night
a few too many rounds,
a moment of despair,
will surely turn into hours,
yet tonight
somehow he believes
all the silent eyes
pass him by in their own automobiles
are wondering just why
it’s 3 am and this guy is in the middle of the night
watching the headlights stream by,
wondering if anyone can notice
anymore.
© Scott F Savage 4/2021
apersonaljourney - stories of love 