Pocket-Park

The homeless couple
sit on the bench,
his hand
reflexively caressing
her shoulder.
She stares into the distance
as the automated sprinklers
wet the grass
around them.
The needle is set
to top 90 today.
He is talking
and gesturing.
His words silenced
by the windows of my car.
Smoke drifts from his cigarette,
his hand drawing wispy shapes
In the early heat
of the morning air.
My light is changing
and I move along,
content…
for all that they do not have
they have each-other.

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