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  • People who sit on benches in parks
    are the most interesting people to me.
    As I sit
    in Ponty Park
    on the hard wooden planks
    I peoplewatch and observe
    the people who sit on benches in parks.

    The elderly couple,
    shopping bags at feet.
    Bones sinking into the bench,
    gravity pulling back their skin.
    Tired, resting.
    Sighing as they remember the long walk home.
    Looking out over the lowering trees.

    The drunkard,
    Special Brew tilting out of hand.
    Long hair plastered against the bench,
    grubby fringe sticking to forehead.
    Sleepy, inebriated.
    Furrowed brow with angry thoughts.
    Looking out over the colourful rockery.

    The teenagers,
    cola cans and sausage rolls strewn across laps.
    Hunched over and perching on the edge of the bench,
    noisy gossip escaping lipsticked and pierced mouths.
    Energetic, excited.
    Grinning at a crude remark.
    Looking out over the fenced in tennis courts.

    Where do I fit in?
    What person am I sitting on a bench in the park?
    Notepad and pen clenched in fists.
    Leaning back and relaxing into the bench,
    darting and observant eyes.
    Alert, inspired.
    Smiling as I watch my little boy playing.
    Looking out over the long green grass.

    Like all these people,
    sitting on benches in parks,
    there is more to me than what anyone sees.
    Writer, mother, more.
    I have only observed and recorded
    delving no deeper into these people’s lives.
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