the blue bench

the smokers
on the blue bench
in del ray
are crusty  men,
disheveled
women on the boulevard.
without work
by choice or
economics, it's hard
to tell. but they
all seem to let
their hair go grey
and long, and
their teeth bad.
they are milky eyed
in their stupor.
cigarettes sucked on
like air, like
life itself, keeping
them thinly
tethered to a fast
blurred world.