I love to sit in the ugly place
The benches look like they’re rotting
But it’s not rot
They’re so dry they cackle when you try to sit down
But they look rotten
The grass there refused to grow
There’s always dust around the benches
Not regular dust
Desolate dust, you can feel it
It’s so quiet there the sand begs to be noticed
And the ugly rot green of the benches
But it’s the old walls of the house
The one with the dusty walls
Old dust that’s so firm it’ll never leave
The house in front of which the rotten benches live
It’s the walls
Rather what’s written on them
Useless words
Letters that don’t make words
Words that mean nothing
Words that mean everything
Words that mean people were here