He sits
on a bench
on my street
as the cars pass by
and the leaves fall down

in autumn.

He sits
with a girl
on the edge
of his childhood
curiously considering


She talks
and he laughs
and in his laughter
you hear his age, on his face
you see his blush and in his voice;

his innocence.

He hasn’t
yet realised
all the power
of her attractions
but her voice is beguiling
and her face and her smile,
and that dream of what she might

give him.

A life
in bloom
on a street
on the bench
as cars pass by
and leaves fall down
and their laughter is the

only sound.

The bench
will eventually
outlive his innocence
but his laughter will linger
on in the lines on this page, in
the echo of his laughter, his echo,