Swinging Bridge

Clouds obscure the moon, and

A chorus of crickets call

There is wind in the trees –

A storm is coming.

Trees toss and bend

Torrents of water

Wash along the shore

A break in the clouds

And the Androscoggin rolls

in the moonlight.

I stand to watch a flash of lightening

And hear a deafening crash of thunder

On the walking bridge

Which sways beneath my feet.

I grip the railing with a cold, wet hand.

A man drowned the other day

Jumping from this bridge.

The current took him.

Yellow light in the distance are houses

One is my destination.

I walk the swinging bridge

Iron cables thick and strong.

Wooden boards bend beneath my feet.

My coat is lashed by wind and water.

I am cold to the bone

As I make my way toward home.

                            ~Doug Palmer