Park Bench

I noticed you walking slowly down the broken sidewalk,
dog leash dragging behind you, dirty, empty.
You struggling to push the laden shopping cart
with the blue Wal Mart handle.
You waddle into the park, pick a seat on the
empty cement bench.

I cross the quiet street to the coffee shop.
two coffees, cream and sugar in one,
two strawberry scones to go.
I return to the park, take the seat beside you.
No words uttered as I hand the cream and sugared.
coffee to you and the bag of scones.

Wordlessly you extend you dirty hand, eyes downcast.
You stretch your swollen legs before you.
Feet resemble blueberry muffins puffing
over the tops of dirty sneakers.

We sip our coffee in silence, your left hand gripping
the bakery bag of treats as though someone would
snatch it from fingers.
I gaze around the park, covertly looking at you
as my head swivels.

Your blue sweater torn, hair uncombed, tattered.
cotton skirt hugging your knees.
I gently ask about your dog, the dragged dirty leash.
He’s gone you mumble beneath your breath.
Died in the night, tears escape your hazy eyes.

I remove my bright sweater laying it on the bench
between us, mutter something about sun warmed morning.
We finish our coffee together; you retrieve my empty
paper cup and add it the collection in your cart.
I stand to leave, sweater forgotten on the bench.
Wordlessly I wander away, a silent prayer of blessing.