Their Bench

A poor shot
of this scene but I wanted to preserve it
because it’s where they used to sit.

They’d go there just to get
out of the house. He was short
of breath by then. The daft git

still wouldn’t give up smoking though.
Their progress was slow.
He gasped and cursed. Grasped her arm. No

wonder his pain wore her down.  But her grip
never weakened as she helped him stand up
again, ready for the exhausting trip

back to his bed. They took it step
by step and never did manage to give agony the slip.
It knew where they lived. Something would put a stop

to their ‘outings’ one day. They both knew that. I
thought he’d go first. She beat him to it. But he
wasn’t long after. Both graves are close by.