The Concrete Railing Told Me

9.2.09

Perched on the concrete railing,

which is more like a solid wall,

With quite precise holes cut in it.

The water not far below,

is not quite crisp, its not muddy.

More like that peculiar fabric--

microfiber, a fake suede.

A marble of green tones

with the smallest hint of blue,

testifies that the current

is slow enough for the algae to grow.

 

Perched above this water,

almost hypnotized by the history:

Dramatic, romantic, and exciting;

and fake,

that I imagine passed along here

pulled by the river.

My tunnel vision narrows futher,

shutting out the sounds of the interstate,

Barely over a mile away

cars and semis

corrode

outward, dead to dying grass stalks.

I don't notice any of this,

not while I jump into this cream,

thicker than water, it tells me a better story.

I stay there, encased, buoyant, listening.

I hear the story till its end.

Tomorrow, I come back for another.

Reviews

[Charles]

Intriguing poem - I've often wondered what those who sit poised on concrete barriers or on bridges over-looking the water are thinkng and what they do when they leave. Now. I have a better idea. I couldn't quite get myself to sit poised on a ledge overlooking anything - a height thing. I do love to watch the water from less lofty positions and like to come back day after day, knowing the water undernesth (at my feet usually) is 'new' water with another story to tell. Great summary - nice writing.