Crush #2

Notice the chairs, discarded at street corners
usually the stuffed ones, the pillows
deformed from cradling bodies
and backside embraces,
keepers of stories, of moments and years
stained from love, boredom and tears
of life's endless short takes
of rest or confinement
The last appeal, on the street, to find new bodies to hold-
rare may be that this wish will be granted
 it is the bony, skinny-legged ones
 that might convince the squirreling re claimer to bring them home
and scrub, paint over, to make new relatives
like middle aged women who still hold their figures, hoping to catch the last train
They reach a hollow part in me,
a sorrow of repeating step,
a longing to find the way back,
redeem the lost and left behind