Bobby's Bench

The sun hit the brass plate

just right, all glare and memory.

'Robert 'Bobby' Chang, 1960-2015, a kind man.'

A kind man. That's all.

No 'beloved husband,' no 'father,'

just kind. On this weathered wood,

by a path where no one pauses

long enough to wonder.

I sat there anyway.

Felt the heat of the plaque

through my jeans. Tried to picture a face.

Did he like pigeons? Did he read?

Was he kind when no one watched?

Twenty-five years gone.

And here, the proof that someone,

somehow, cared enough to carve it out.

A simple, tarnished grace.

And I, a stranger, sat in his place.