Sprawled
Whenever I see someone
Sprawled on a bench,
Exposed to the elements,
Hands in a clench,
I wonder if long ago,
Curled in his crib
Or perched in his high chair,
With drips on his bib,
A mom or a dad,
With the tenderest gaze,
Saw their hopes for their son
Mapped in various ways.
They certainly never
Imagined him stuck
On a bench in a city park,
Down on his luck.
Few passersby stop,
(And yes, that includes me)
Rarely thinking about
How such things come to be.
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