The Wooden Bench Poem by Kimberly Dixon Harris

My bench is made of the finest wood matter.
People walk by and look at me as if I’m no good.
I watch to pick out the one that looks like Robin Hood.
Hey Mr., can you please spare some of your baked goods?

My clothes are little tattered.
But my spirit is no longer battered.
Nor are any of my bones shattered.
I’ve chosen to wear my clothes a little tattered.
It is better than waking up battered.
I have peace on my bench made of the finest wood matter.

I put behind me the house where I was misunderstood.
Each night in the dark I stood.
Nothing I did was ever any good.

My cries went unheard.
The tears he preferred.
I had better not say a word.
Mindful of what had just occurred.

The Crux of the matter,
My mind is no longer scattered.
My face is no longer shattered.
My body is no longer battered.
My teeth no longer chatter.
I have peace on my bench made of the finest wood matter.