benches.

the early morning rain is painting a seattle scene.
wooden benches left out dripping.
corrosion eating at their beams.
a patch of red, or orange, or brown.

thirty years and still no respect.
people just walking by, sitting, leaving.
littering newspapers on the planks.
carefully placing gum beneath the seat.

forgotten out in the rain.
the people pass on by, except on sunny days.
when the air is fine they have the time,
to sit and rest in the shade.

it's the fool-hearty head of man,
that lets things go to waste.
for soon a man will lose his hold,
and the benches will be left in place.

so the rain comes down and wears away,
the seasons turn and still no change.
just wet benches in the park today,
getting eaten more slowly than we live.