Statue

I think it was looking at me. He, no,

she was looking at me.

Bag across lap, head under cap.

Looking

at me.

Parked on the bench like a car on the street.

Shoes barely covering holes on her feet.

Looking

at me.

Her gaze never wavers, my gait doesn’t change.

She has desires.

Needs.

Shelter in heat, in blistering cold.

Answers.

And she’s looking

at me.

How would I feel if I sat there alone?

My world a discomfort, rough concrete my home?

Looking, never seen.

Looking at me.

I’m turning around, I see the Statue.

This time it’s your turn;

We’re looking

at You.