finding our bench

we walk

until our feet hurt, until

we sweat

in the cool autumn air.

we lean

back onto the benches

marked

with who once

sat there.

Marvin and Joe,

Betsy,

and Elise.

i suppose they did the same

as we do.

taking in the view,

observing

others,

hand in hand,

around

the lake, through the ramble,

then back.

perhaps,

one day the city will

mark

a bench for us as well.

i suppose it wouldn't

hurt to ask.