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amid scurrying feet, 
in the whirling humanity,
with divided aims, 
and sizzling brains,
she paused with singularity of purpose.


never in a hurry, more at peace,
on a park bench, alone,
bent and weird, she sat.
when she moved, 
 her bones creaked,
on rusty hinges!


ragged in dress, torn in body, 
face scourged by Time,
its contours deep like ravines.
her withered breasts,
hanging like nests of tailor birds.
hair lying disheveled,
with eyes shrouded in mist,
she looked out into the sinking sun,
never dreading the darkness that falls. 


the park bench was her temporary halt.


she sat there every evening
determined to live on,
with the coins habitually dropped, 
into her outstretched hands,
by those sailing past her,
unobtrusive self.


like a monument of patience
she sat.
sat, so alone!

~ First Place Trophy Win~

Dec.16.2022
Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest. No.55

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