One Bench.

One old couple
holding hands
on the park bench where
you kissed me for the first time
- carefully -
not spilling a drop
of the coffee I bought.

Chinese hipsters pass by
the old couple
sneers together
like they've done
for years
and will for
one more.

Too.

The
too slow walk of the
too young man -

too alone with his
too long beard framing his
too old face, his
too battered coat and
too worn out shoes, pulling a
too small cart
too full with
too many bags with
too few bottles -

reminds me that I -

too

- could be that man.