Benched By Ray Scanlon

Recoiling from the stifling dense nightmare of a Boston subway crowd, I find sanctuary on a plaza bench. Concrete, steel, and glass surround me; they stand back, wary of my overt distaste. The Procrustean bench refuses to accommodate my slouch. I can feel oaken sentience and memory of edged tools through the nerves of my fingertips. Worn smooth, yet textured, the wood could still throw a splinter if it wanted to.

© Ray Scanlon

Ray Scanlon. Massachusetts boy. Has grandchildren. Extraordinarily lucky. Recovering assembly language programmer. Not averse to litotes. No MFA. No novel. No extrovert. Twitter: @oldmanscanlon. On the web: http://read.oldmanscanlon.com

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