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John M. Kenny The Man on the BenchWooden boards were missing The pigeons gathered around The man, old and gray Lying like a statue Emerged from his sleep. Early in the morning, the sun rose A cool warmth brushed through the walk. His clothes were aged Bleached from the sunlight Wrinkled like a raisin Hair matted down By countless years of disregard. He wore a set of ancient, Tie-dyed Converses At least two sizes to small His big toe had torn the tip of the shoe. He had let himself leave reality And live day by day, Second by second. He had no worries Spending his nights in the park And his days roaming the city. |
[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2011 EDITION]
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