Only a Park Bench

I'm only a park bench...
I sit underneath a big magnolia tree and I watch people and I listen to them.  Every Tuesday, a businessman (I don't know his name) comes to the park and eats lunch.  He sometimes sits quietly in his own thoughts, but sometimes he talks to himself.  He rants about his boss, wonders what his wife is making for dinner, and sometimes laughs as he retells a joke.  He seems like a really good guy.  I wish I knew his name, but I highly doubt he'll ever introduce himself to me; I'm only a park bench.

I love it when Ben and his mom come to the park.  He looks about three and they come every once and a while for picnics.  She always has her camera and is constantly taking pictures.  She'll position Ben in one way or another, make him slide down the slide four times just so she can get the perfect shot (not that he minds at all). She'll push Ben sky high on the swings as he giggles and screams "Higher Mama!" and she packs the most wonderful lunches for the two of them, things like sandwiches, cookies, lemonade, breadcrumbs to feed the birds.  In the colder weather she packs hot chocolate to warm Ben's small body. I wish my mom could've taken me on picnics and and made me hot chocolate to warm my cold slats, but I don't know my mother, because I'm only a park bench.

Kids are great, until they hit your legs with sticks! That's when I hate my job. Really, why is putting a harmless park bench through pain, funny?! The worst part is that I just have to sit here and take it. I didn't think anybody could ever understand until one day a clown, from a birthday party that had just ended, decided to join me.  He mumbled to himself about the stupid kids he just finished working with and how he wished he never had to work with children again. Of course he sighed, still frustrated but knowing he didn't mean it.  FINALLY! Someone who understood! Not that I could thank him, I'm only a park bench.

Despite the various ups and downs the the different days bring, everyday at 4:00pm sharp, I have to brace myself for the Harrises, but not for the reasons you might think.  They're an elderly couple that lives down the street and coming to the park is a part of their evening routine.  Looking at Mrs. Harris, you can tell she was stunning in her time, she's beautiful now.  And Mr. Harris might be the gentlest man I've ever seen.  They walk slowly down the sidewalk holding hands on their way to sit on the bench beneath the magnolia tree.  I don't know their past, but I can see their present and it's sweet.  It's living happily with each other no matter what it entails.  I have to brace myself every evening, not because of any antics or frustration, but because of a deep and bitter loneliness I feel as I watch lasting love walk hand in hand back to their little home until 4:00pm the next day.  Watching them smile at each other like teenagers on a first date or bicker like siblings, knowing that I would never have a chance to feel like that because I'm only a park bench.

I have to pull myself together, though.  Because once everyone is at home sleeping in their warm bed, I become the bed of a homeless man.  I don't know his name or his story.  All I know is that he needs me.  So I sit here and do my best to make my slats as comfortable and warm as I can so that he can sleep well before we both start another day, him, doing what he does, and me, well...
...I'm only a park bench.