I had already found that it was not good to be alone, and so made companionship with what there was around me, sometimes with the universe and sometimes with my own insignificant self…  ~Joshua Slocum~


Someone left me here.

To die.

Or, at the very least, to suffer the indignities of being burned by the sun, moistened by the rain and chilled by a late winter’s night.

Why was I left alone on this bench? Why was I forsaken? Am I no longer sufficient as a covering for warmth? Was I too toasty for you?

Perhaps I am smelly or torn or several buttons are missing. Perhaps you received a 30% off coupon from a large department store and found something new, something colorful and clean and more worthy of your admiration. Perhaps you simply forgot, smitten by the lure of a spring-like temperature.

You have left me alone to make companionship with a wooden bench.

Why did you not come back for me?


Well, it may be too late for that. Someone moved me and left me here on this post.

To die.

This soul that takes my photograph, she believes it funny. The soul walks past me twice, and bikes past me twice, and laughs. Does she ever ask me how I got here or what has become of the flesh that I once covered?

No. She laughs.

And takes photographs.

And wonders why I hang on a post.

I scream at her, “Because I like it out here in the universe, insignificant and alone.”

I do not know where I am now. I have not seen the soul in two days. No one has come for me. I cannot tell you if I’m on the bench or on the post or if someone has cast me into a ditch. My only sense is that I am alone. Alone and unwanted. The epidermis that I covered no longer cares for me. I am as unwanted as unsightly nose hair or a chin wart or chocolate that has turned white. I shall never cover flesh again, unless…

Someone saves me.

Takes this poor something home and washes its layers.

And wears me.

Or donates this attire to a charitable adventure. I’d settle for that.

So I shall wait. Wait here, wherever I am, and hope beyond hope that I will not be left here.


To die.

10 responses to Alone

  1. Relax... says:

    🙂 A wrenching tale. I am changed. From now on, if I see a jacket aloned, I shall rescue it, and if it’s of very good quality, it and I shall run like hell!

  2. Only you could take the concept of “alone” and write about a coat…

    It’s the abandoned baby’s hats that make me feel sad. Mostly for the mother. Just another nail in the coffin of a mother’s sanity….

    • bikerchick57 says:

      Glad you liked it, but I agree…don’t want to find a baby’s hat or nook or booties sitting on a bench.

  3. kutukamus says:

    Dear Sir J. (Joshua/Jacket)
    Man, ain’t you tough!

    (PS: Don’t blame her. You might have just found yourself a worshipper)

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