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I had an hour to kill
At the arts center
With a book to read
And nowhere to sit

The lobby was full known for plush deep chairs
Cool and low-lit and inviting and high-ceilinged
And occupied by some gala
Some fine-dressed wine-sippers
Meandering in and out of bits and pieces of ragtime jazz
And wasting the chairs

The first bench in the hallway was filled
A man with two daughters
The younger one’s eyes stayed on me
As if she understood
And pitied me
And my tired legs

The next bench was marked
A bag and a pair of shoes
Tucked under
Just visible enough
The chatty woman in the doorway had staked her claim

Outside
To the unbearable heat
The apartments to the left
Rude and lifeless
No benches or stoops

My car was too hot
Black and baking
In the clear heat

I trudged despondent across concrete and pavement and asphalt

Peering through brambles
Blocks away, across a creek
Two benches, unused and unkempt
Lay dormant in the shade

I crossed the maple foot bridge
Dirtied my hand on the rusting guardrail
And followed the worn-grass path
And sat
In the cool
In the cooing of the creek
And crushed a mosquito between my fingers
And savored my find