The Bridge

Jetting its strength 

across the waters, 

a concrete arm 

destroys the isle.

Blood and cries 

are everywhere making 

themselves known to all.

And over the waters 

the ferry will travel 

no more. No more.

The ferry will anchor, 

forever. No more.

I turn my eyes to

tears with these people.

Almost gone from view 

is the light house - the heart 

and the soul of these island 

folks. The heart and soul of 

the isle herself. And, when a 

heart is taken, how can there 

be no tears. No more.

I look to that bridge, 

only stones over the waters, 

and I want, so desperately 

want, to erase that thing 

from the people's view. Just 

take it out of their sight.

Destroy that thing; make it 

to fall-on them that say it 

must stay. Make it fall on them 

that say fifty ferrymen must 

lose there job, because it 

must stay. It is, after all, the wave 

of the future. It is modern. It 

is progress. Think of the tourists, 

think of the traffic and just 

think of all that glorious fossil fuel 

making toxins thick and clear 

to see. Ah, just think of it. Won't it 

be wonderful. Just damn the thing, 

I say. It will never replace the beauty 

it robs. Damn the thing. No more.

13 September 1995