the green paint-chipped benches

slouch on the wilting concrete sidewalk,

leaning cautiously on those abused red stones

and he

lays on that bench

in that cold

clutching his coat—

his thick woolen skin—

against that cold.

silenced, angry tears swell

down the puffed redness of his face.

the day has been too long,

the night too rough

with his fractured mind

and as I gaze in his sullen eyes

I understand what I am seeing

the world

this beaten boy is us

the human race

as we put all our weight

on the leaning, cracking, breaking world

as the world itself slumps and folds under our weight

we simply lay upon it and cry

lament the changes

the disasters we have caused…

our eyes connect

and something molded from hope

lights the grainy blues on his face

I smile

because that is all I can do for a dying breed

I smile and shrug

and his blues shine

and we know

I smiled

because we need false optimism

because no one knows when the green paint will be all gone

because the bench could give way any second

I smiled at melancholy optimized

because we lay on a slouching bench

and that is more than anyone can do for us