Andrew the Writer

Photo by Katie Photo by Katie

The benches never got to play. The cruel humans had encased their feet in concrete, firmly buried the entombing blocks in the ground, forever locking the playful benches just feet from each other, never to touch again. The wall and the fence were in a permanent embrace. Even the wood chips could move around with assistance from the wind or the rain. Or the dogs.

The dogs. That was the worst part of this endless torture. Day after day, the benches had to stand there, immobile, watching with broken hearts as the dogs got to wrestle, run, drink, play tug-o-war, fetch balls thrown for them, and even occasionally sing as they do in their own special way. Dogs bouncing and yipping. Dogs panting with joy and exhaustion. Dogs laughing at the sky in ecstasy.

The humans, as if their concrete prisons weren’t bad enough, would crush the…

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About Jonathan Caswell

Mr. Caswell has been composing poetry at least since High School. He has been on WORD PRESS for ten years and contributes to two other blogs beside this one. This blog has a Christian emphasis but all bloggers are welcome. Mr. Caswell chooses to---with permission--re[post material of interest

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