They number the benches
they, those who need to have order
and know the when and where
of all things

The sage of bench 33
doesn’t really ever see
the brass plate with its proud threes
he covers it with his frock
as if to sublimely mock
the “theys” who need to believe these
graphic creatures keep the world
from tilting too far on its throne

The sage of bench 33
was once a number watcher,
he too counting the ways and the days
to find their sacred sum
but now he only counts
what really counts…
the steps to his next meager meal
the coins in his blue chipped cup
and the stars he can see
from bench 33
on moonless nights,
amid the frenzied frights
of those “theys”
who number not only their days
and the checkered concrete ways
but also benches for the holy homeless