[mcdowell and slashes.]

i cannot deny – as i approach the benches

at mcdowell and slashes – “i hope that someone,

somewhere, someday wants to see these benches

because i wrote them in a poem.

i hope that someone knows my name

and sees it on a book at a store

or in a library – and picks it up for

no other immediate reason.

i hope that their spirit growls –

the way a worker’s stomach growls

at the scent of a stew after a

long day.

i hope it makes them want to walk around their historic neighborhood

(or be in one in the first place)

and celebrate every weathered piece of wood

for the story it tells

and watch little girls and boys playing

with their power and potential still ahead

and hear old men and women talking

with their long lasting lore and legacy

i hope they revel at the sound of rain

-for it forces us inside with loved ones

or makes us long to explore outside

i hope they smile at the sunrise

-for it is the promise of another breath

i hope they welcome winter’s whitefall

-for it covers all, dampens echo and reminds us – ‘hush!’

i hope they vigorously work, viciously play and vehemently rest

-for we have eight hours to do each

i hope they celebrate others

as none of us are fully alike and i hope

each man is fully engaged in his mind,

enriched in his heart

      and emissive in disposition.

(oh, may Life plant seeds in the

soul of every man – may they germinate

and take root until the soul is like a

garden with enough to feed not only

itself but its hungry neighbor.”

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