Here we are, at this bench
There is only one bench here to hold us
Its cracked red edges and rusty nails
We are here, exhausted travelers
Needing a place to rest.
Needing each other.
Will we share this bench?
Will we fight over it,
till we both fall exhausted on the ground.
The blisters on our feet,
the smell of our tattered clothes,
give witness to a ragged journey.
Will we claim separate ends of this bench,
or will we lean on each other,
sleeping the sleep of the exhausted?
If we are so connected,
why do we tarry,
in leaning on each other?
Why do we fight over this bench,
when there is room for all?