Bridges

Poem By Richard Quinby

In Percy Warner Park
There was a simple wooden bridge
Halfway down a woodland trail.
Perhaps it was washed out by a flashflood
Or collapsed under the weight of a deadfall.
But it’s gone now, long since replaced
With a solid structure of
Fresh and level lumber
Sturdy looking, but
Looking out of place
I liked the old one better
It held fond memories of a day years ago
When I leaned her across the railing
As the trees danced shadows
Up her bare legs.
I touched her, smiling
Amused by her apprehension
And her fear of being seen
By some passing day hiker.
I felt her shudder as shadows
Danced down her thigh.

I wonder what they did
With the old lumber?
Does it lie in some scrap pile,
Holding fond memories
Of that day years ago?
Does it remember the weight
Of her breasts
And hear the echo
Of her soft moans?

In Percy Warner Park
There was a rustic wooden bridge
Halfway down a woodland trail.
Perhaps it was washed out by a flashflood
Or collapsed under the weight of memories
But it’s gone now, long since replaced.
It’s a fine bridge, well built and sound
But I never go there anymore
I liked the old one better.

(9/29/05)

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