this is the place where I sit on a bench
and wait for a golf-cart
this is the place where the sun shines
and warms the january air
this is the place where a new year
of poetry
begins reluctantly
in public
this is the place where people know my name
because it is printed on my shirt
in sharpie
in my own handwriting
and I smile at small girls
who wander from their young mothers
and I wonder if it was really worth
the effort to come
and meet people I already casually knew
back home
who left
and someone I knew years ago
his name escapes me
but I know it must be Loyd
because it is printed on his shirt
in his own handwriting
with sharpie
this is the place where I am
I could go back
no questions asked
several answers silently given
but for now this is the place
where I sit
benchside
and wait
and wait alone
Poetry OR Poem
