Honestly, I was just feeling kinda bad that I 1) Left those nasty heel photos up for so long and 2) Hadn't posted something of greater interest since then. So, in lieu of the fact that I am now in a creative writing class for my English minor, I figured I'd toss up some of my more monumental pieces as of late. They suck, but just be glad I'm not making you look at those bloody heels anymore.
The Man and The Bench
Context- Write a poem about someone you are watching.
by Logan Tanner
If only he knew.
If only he knew I was watching.
If only he knew the pain I was enduring to watch him feed himself.
If only this bench was designed for my butt and not generically engineered.
With formed, black, curly iron and planks of faded, splintery wood, it sat.
I sat.
We sat and watched this man.
Greasy napkin in hand, encapsulating a microwaved mess of caloric goodness.
His contentment was evident, as was his oblivion of his audience.
Has he no shame?
Have I no shame?
Neither of us has shame as he stuffs his face and I stare on in transfixed awe.
I love it.
He loves it.
And when he realizes how much I am loving it, his canvas of smiles and food filled pleasure goes blank.
He checks his watch.
I check my watch.
Mine is broken, but his is not.
Neither of us really has any need to go as both of us rise and leave.
Opposite directions.
Equal embarrassment.
If only he knew how embarrassed I was.
If only I knew how embarrassed he was.
If only we knew.
If only that bench had been more comfortable.
2 comments:
I love your poem, its so real. I really felt like i was watching this man stuff his face. <3
Studying advertising?
I'm doing the same, it suck doesn't it?
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