The Best Waiting Place

On many warm afternoons,

I would sit at a neighbor’s front yard,

Alone on a wooden bench,

that had a shine from excessive use.

It was the best place to be

For it gave me uncorrupted view

As my parents walked towards me.

They would dismount the bus,

hike hundred and ten steps,

To get the full view of me waiting.

And when they appear in my sight,

I would run down the small hill

With my arms outstretched,

as they try to calm their breaths.

I was happiest if I got a candy

But if their pockets were empty,

I was just as happy to have them back.





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