The Bridge

The Bridge

By Robin Lee Shelby

Its deck timbers are dried

The undercarriage gone

All wooden fenders are rotting away

And traffic now is banned

But I remember how it was

In an earlier time

When things seemed so much simpler

And she was in her prime

The boat horn would blow

And men would scramble out

To manually turn the bridge

Along the curving walk

The boat would then go down the bayou

To its port of call

And the bridge would be turned

To where it had been

I walked many times across that bridge

When I was very young

For I had to cross it

To get to grammar school

I’ve crossed many other bridges

In my long lifetime

But that one will always be

The one that stays in my mind