He stayed
every day
on a park bench

He growled
spoke foul
pardon my French

His face
lines traced
a map of a hard life

The sickness
with quickness
took away his wife

And that war
it tore
his flesh and clothes

His child
never smiled
and powdered up his nose

Now he
can't see
past his own trench

He remains
tear-stained
on a park bench