Alone

I am alone on a park bench. The streets are lined with endless puffy clouds of grey exhaust from passing cars, Of passerbys, On their way to that desk job only a block away, The same thing they did yesterday, And I still sit here on this park bench, Alone. And the mother that holds on to that little boy as they cross the road, With that tight grip, Afraid it might be their last trip, But they hug goodbye and she suppresses her cry and whispers "I love you," And I am still alone. All the people on the sidewalk who travel every which way, Who have a place to be, Are like ants as they flee, And they sidestep me on that park bench. They look ahead with their breifcase at their side and phone buzzing in their ear, But I am alone. And then theres me on that park bench, longing for the hum of a human voice, The call of hello, The wry smile between two strangers, The impenetrable stare across the room, The endless laughter after a joke, The small talk about the weather, The gentle brush of a hand on your back, A strong hug, A soft kiss. I guess to be knoced off your feet, With nothing to eat, Always searching for a place to sleep, A little dirt caked on your face, Sends all signs of human comfort away. Take me back to the day where I too walked past this bench, But for now I am alone.