Three Leather Stools Under the Sun
The three of us walk, under the burning sun,
No one talks, but we know all we think about is
We are tired. We walk, or crawl, in silent and at
Times, we can hear the sun falling on our shoulders.
There is no breeze, or water, or person around
Us, just the three of us walking in the dessert.
We are not lost, we know where we are going,
But we are tired, and the sun keeps growing.
When we still had some energy left, we talked,
We sang, we even argued, but not anymore.
Our shoes are older, our eyes are tired, it feels as if
We started walking in winter, and now it is summer
In the distance we see three stools, we all see them
So they must be real. Three of them, just like us
Under the sun. Their leather tops, just like our
Skin, burning under the inclement sun.
We see them in the distance, glowing and still
Alive. But they are far, too far, and perhaps they
Don’t glow, but are getting burned instead.
So we keep walking, hoping they survive.