City bench

Sitting still on the bench in the city
The same old iron bench that everyone knows
Staring at the building that some find shitty
But some thinks it just suits them fine

The white faux-brick walls
were corroded and black streaks
trickled down the cracks like old rain falls
making irregular stripes

Light at the window, shadow on the sill
Smoke drifting out marbling the black night
It shuts with a squeak so vile so shrill
maybe should just remain open

I stir from my place subject to staring
By the old shadow with grey eyes
I start going home, the cold over-bearing
"hey" called a voice from the window.