So, there was a poetry prompt from Leslie, who you can find to explore at LeslieScoble.com, to write a poem with the main stipulation being that your narrator be seated on a bench. The rest of the prompt’s details are here, The Bench: A monologue poem including Leslie’s own wonderful take on her own prompt.
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Measure of Life on a Park Bench
I used to try to talk to birds here
who always flew clear
the crumbs of my words not enough
for them to strut at my feet
instead always taking seat
at the bench down the way
where my words echoed blunt
dead
off a statue’s head
one commissioned
instead
to just sit
as art
on a bench
in a park
for birds to just sit
as art
on a bench
in a park
.
I used to try to talk to squirrels here
as I remembered the scamper of youth
where I too was cute
proud tail tall and fluffed
from cool back pocket combs
and brushes of ego and stories attention
but now resolute to just frolic
away
and mock
melancholic heart-wrenched tales
that
then tall
tail tale
of friends once said
aloud together
but now just in my head
long dead
.
I used to try to talk to passerby
who always hasten be passers bye
eye (s) not caught
in their hurries to add not to worries
of days that are harried and carried
with them past park benches
hurried quick
with dogs
on a leash
who would shoo from a lifted leg
when I moved my head
and I tried to talk to them too
Oh, how I wished to talk to them too
at least
at most
.
I used to try to talk to the statue
on the bench down the way
where my words to birds
flitted away
or those to squirrels for skittish reminder
the truths I had to tell
when I was still young well
well young
to the dogs I wondered would maybe come
unencumbered
of leash
break free
momentarily
be my ol’ best girl, Lady
at my feet
.
I am just art
commissioned
to sit
on a bench
in a park
just down the way
with stories not heard
made of stone
Frankenberry's Attic 
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