four degrees and wondering

we scurry in the quiet
stillness of sunday
morning on sheppard
she in her zipped-up koala
fleece onesie a haven
of heat as we hold hands
j-walking to grab warm
fresh bagels

fullness of fall colours a faint memory
as we reach the corner
out of the bland
grayness of concrete and metal
my eyes rest
upon the chilled stool
folded open four legs dug in
to the meagre soil bereft
of green grass

four degrees – just the temp
when my heated-seat vw flashes warnings
of the dangers of exposure
whose stool is this
your throne awaits

precisely reupholstered in
red duct tape
master locked with kryptonite looped
to the traffic light flashing
yellow hand from above
this stool has held you
through days of tender
blue and bright
orange

just off main street – yonge that is
perhaps you know how that feels
never at the centre
neglected by the focused frenzy
fighting for fame or fortune

what do you do from this perch
this precious red stool
a well-meaning crossing guard perhaps
self-proclaimed safety savant
or
chasing crushing poverty away
seeking alms with dignified distinction
or
a welcome custodian of comfort
for wearied passers-by
unable to bear
the bags of burden they carry

where are you
on this still sunday
oh i hope you are someplace
walled-in with a cup o’ hot

and shame on me if you’re not

Written by Scott Moore
Illustrated by Landon Wideman

Inspired November 2021