The Bridge by Herbert Nehrlich

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The Bridge

It was the same each time,
a ghost must live beneath,
that bridge of stone, stained
by a ton of droppings,
seagulls and frigate birds,
out of their territory, shouting
and frolicking, bad-mouthing
dugongs and fishes, loudly.

I should have listened to
my thoughts and fears,
before that fateful day.
When thirty tons of stone
all stained, and to the laughter
of gulls and frigate birds
fell into the stormy sea.
And they, without excuse,
took me.

Herbert Nehrlich

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Mike Finley (3/29/2006 2:41:00 PM)
I like this. It has a hapless fatalism about it that puts the reader into a brief spell.

Confusion: is the speaker someone who was standing on the bridge when it collapsed?

I'm not always good at parsing obvious things like that.

Cokbod Lodwogo (9/5/2005 9:56:00 AM)
Very good use the almighty metaphor....good stuff.

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Herbert Nehrlich (04 October 1943 / Germany)