David McLansky

(5/24/1944 / New York City)

Kay Borth's Bench


In the sunlight,
An empty bench
Before your house
A ghostly sense;
The wooden slats
Once painted red,
Where once you sat
With nodding head
Show flecks of gray
The paint chipped off
A quiet place to sit and pray..

The cat has fled;
To the neighbors yard,
Beneath the shed,
Life turns hard;
No more easy
Kitty treats
No boney laps
Her fur stroked sleek

I still recall your bright 'Halloo, '
Your arm held high
As we paused to go
The cat sprang up
And climbed a tree;
And menaced us
Cold eyes that see.

The bench stands empty in the sun
No voice commands us that we come;
Just that faint whisper
Beyond despair;
A kind heart is gone
How still the air

Submitted: Saturday, September 07, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, September 11, 2013
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