Poem interrupted

I found myself upon a bench, midway upon a city I have long since called home.

Sir Carlton Edwards and Madam Ellen stumbled upon me, a bench which I would seek retreat.

An old lady with her dog walked up to me. And while I wanted to write a poem with a different ending, I realized I was living one in real time.

So I wrote nothing.
And aspects of that interaction will be lost to time.

But I did not care.

I spoke to this elderly lady, Ellen, and her dog, Carlton, for as long as she wanted.

She is in her 70s, so is Carlton.

She reminds me of my mother.

Ellen spoke about Sir Carlton Edwards as if I would have the privilege to see him next week with his new haircut. Sadly, I will not.

I am sure it will be befitting of his name.