Wooden picnic bench

Slowly encroached by shade

Your planks are weathering,

Varnish long stripped,

Pollen dust layered.

Where termites gnawed you down,

You’re starting to look more like the tree

You once were, or would have become,

Ridges of outer bark,

Smoothed and splintered,

Bespidered,

Base wreathed in the vertebrate husks of pine leaves.

Carefully sat, in spots,

You can still support a body.