The Benchmark: a poem


Staff Writer
She hadn’t sat down
For the longest time
To breathe autumn’s musky air,
The suffocating sleep-inducing vapor.
Birchwood Park.
That’s where she ended up,
At the same park bench
Where everything had started.
A knife’s sloppy etching
Was left on the arm
Of this park bench.
The etching had worn down.
The cuts were faded,
But they were as vibrant
As ever in her eyes.
She repressed her memories.
“Partners in crime,
You and me.
What do you say?
You ready for it?”
She wasn’t.
He wasn’t.
They were stupid.
The toll had to be paid.
They crossed the bridge
And burned it behind them,
And consumed themselves
In the embers of destruction.
She had everything to lose
And nothing to gain,
Except for a broken soul
And cuts left behind.