the bench in willow street park
you know
every time i meandered
thru willow street park
i saw you sitting there
on that rather ratty old bench
that same old bench, that’s been there sense
i roller-skated past it
and went down flat on my face,
i vaguely remember you watching
as i cried and mom got all hysterical
you were always hanging around
when i’d go head first on my flexie
down the knoll just past that bench
i took so many tumbles at willow street park
you never seemed too concerned
just always patient and well . . .
waiting
time round the bend
when i’d storm out of the house
make my way to the park
after blowing up all that angst
in mom and dad’s face
when boyfriends and girlfriends
betrayed me
my grades sucked and i wasn’t allowed
this or that
i'd walk past you
sitting there strumming an old guitar
singing to yourself
you’d look up at me and smile
pat that old bench for me to come sit down
next to you
and again
when innocence and trust was stolen
i ran screaming inside my head
to be just by myself
to hide away in willow street park
to bury myself in childhood
you were still sitting there
patted the bench again
beckoned me with a slender hand
sit down next to you
and talk
you got to be crazy i thought
so the hell with willow street park
it was that time
the time to run
toward anywhere but home
i could name you all the detours
from here to kalamazoo
and back again
that i took
on my road to freedom
but they never got me there. . .
where was there?
. . . any faster or freer
so here i am
all those detours
led back home
with how many, many years past
my ups and my downs
sketched on my face
not hard to read
my times currently tabulated
and categorized successes and failures
more smiles than frowns
and now
i could roller-skate rings around worry
and fly head first on a high speed flexie
with the best of them and not bat an eye
but i’m thinking
it be nice to visit willow street park
see if i could find that old bench
i’m kind of tired
a little weary
could use a good talk
with someone more objective
i’m thinking that if you offered your bench
kinda pat your hand across the splinters
offer me a cool pepsi
because i’m thirsty
beckon me
to rest
i could sit down . . . . .
jeanne rene 7/04
