The bronze man in my poem “I love you”

is still sitting on the metal bench in St. George Boulevard.

He is wearing his greenish suit

colored over the years by his sweat

and the outrage of the sky.

I visited him last month. He was sad.

He complained about the birds sitting on his head and shoulders,

the squirrels enjoying their meals in his lap,

strangers stopping by him and getting so close

that he feels their breath.

Some of the kids poke his eyes

and the silly ones touch his teeth with their dirty fingers.

He is getting tired of the autumn rain,

the snow in winter, the allergy of the spring,

and the heat of the summer.

His eyes get watery.

He apologizes, pulling back memories about his beloved wife.

He misses her, she the cause of his fame

is not there sitting beside him,

so far away in another city.

I cheered him promising to visit more often.

After three months I stopped by and he wasn’t there.

I heard rumors,

he has been retired to the city hall storage

after such complaints.