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.