A poem by the wonderfully named Everette Maddox:

PARK BENCH POEM

Mind if I put up
a park bench
in your mind?
I mean, if
the mind is a park,
why not have a poem in it?
After all, when
you get through
buying hotdogs &
getting a load
of the swans
you'll want
some place to
sit down. It
ought to be fairly
comfortable by
the time a few
generations of
transient assholes
have worn it
smooth, & the paint
off – though
the original idea
was to advertise
my product: my own
green life, now
flaking into winter.


NB: I hadn't heard of this New Orleans poet before, but this is an account of his funeral:

When the poet Everette Maddox died in New Orleans, in February of 1989, more than four hundred persons showed up for his funeral march. It began on Oak Street, at the Maple Leaf Bar and followed a Dixieland Band to Carrollton Station, where it paused and had drinks before winding back to the funeral services at the Maple Leaf