On a bench
As she approached the public bench
that wooden miserable affair,
sizzling below the the summer sun,
withered, peeling and unkempt,
she reckoned that five-letter word
and all the meanings it could stir
had it been another soul thinking about it.
Had this fair lady been a judge,
she could immediately recall
the very day she took the bench
to glower over every wrong.
A baseball player would abhore
the mere sight of one in case
his bottom was all warm and slack
by sitting on one in each game.
A metal worker would think work
A gymnast would start working out
A miner would dig a wide ledge
A backbenching MP aspires for the front.
Yet she is but a gilted girl
sitting each noon on this same bench
he once had said he'd go away
no longer loving her to stay.
Copyright © Archontoula Alexandropoulou | Year Posted 2017