we are the transients,
sitting on our iron benches looking past
mountains and meadows.
our benches sunk into concrete, our
cars whizzing by
we think we are masters of the universe.
we are the transients trashing our world
like the ones who smoke in the forest,
running out at night to stab and assault
a young woman running by
such innocence to believe in safety
in this world.
we are the transients, our concrete
will crack into a million pieces, our benches
will rust to ruin.