I am a bench

I was taking a stroll around town, Anna, when I came upon this bench. I thought it looked sad, forlorn, overlooked - and yet if only this bench could speak... what tales it could tell.

Just think of all the bums that have parked themselves on this bench. I don't mean bums in the American sense of hoboes and tramps (although there will have been a few of those) but bums as in arses. What conversations has this bench been privy to?

Or even what silent thoughts (if a bench can pick up thoughts).

It's autumn now, so perhaps not many folk will park their bottoms here - although there are always the hardy (or desperate) souls who will.

So next time you sit on a bench, say thank you when you get up to leave. I'm sure it will be appreciated.

George