the other day
I was on Lycabettus hill with a friend,
the sun keeping us warm
against an early spring breeze.
as we were walking up the hill,
I recognized something,
a hidden branching of the path,
barely noticeable.
I followed it immediately,
dragging the poor friend along,
and ended up in a small nook
between the hill and the trees,
near the main path but invisible to it.
“The perfect hookup spot,”
as you once called it,
all these years ago,
when you brought me here.
and it really used to be
“the perfect hookup spot”
as it used to have
right in the middle of that secluded area
an old, slightly bent,
park bench.
a park bench we honored
the only way we could:
by desperately making out on it,
while keeping an ear out
for any footsteps coming our way.
that singular park bench,
touched by so many,
before and after us,
was now gone.
and as we were heading back down the hill
I already knew what needed to be done.
we need a park bench here,
a strong one,
made of iron or granite,
so that couples can come again,
to be alone together,
to make out,
to heat up, moisten that bench,
keep it alive till the end of time.
because we need this,
that burst of heat and excitement
as two people come together
forgetting every part
of the world around them,
that’s the spark of life.
isn’t it?
______
another park bench by Dimitrios Kokkinos is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License