In 1874 it ws an engineering marvel, now just a sad link between two poverties on each side of the river.
A Few Lines After 140 Years
Crossing the bridge before dawn, its every surface
Rust and rattles, dark but for red warning lights,
No sounds but the give of rails beneath the wheels
Of a train on the tracks below the deck, and for just
A moment, only there at the edge of as far as I can see,
The moon and the few faint stars falling into the water
And heaving into darkness against its banked stones,
What little light there was now neither here nor there,
The black river staying and going on into the empty air.
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2015-05-13 at 18:09
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