They have taken away

The benches where God slept.

The tired sad bodies

Wrapped in frail clothes, curled

Up to face the wall

Of boards backing the benches

Barrier to the sea wind

And salt spray

Just down the beach

The sun breaks, brilliant

Spectacle rising from the dark

Ocean to the crashing welcome

Of waves, squawk of seagulls.

Some few mornings

Going out to greet the sun

I myself would tiptoe

Quietly past God sleeping

In the guise of his saddest

Creature—alone in the dark

In the hushed-silent hours.

But now, to purge the shores

Of the undesirable destitutes

They have taken away

The benches where God slept.

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©_{2023 Marissa Mullins Photo Credit: William Blake (Courtesy of Birmingham Museum})