By Shem Onderi
Gallons of water pass under the bridge,
Sometimes silently, other times loud—
Much of it unaccounted for in any measure.
Under the bridge, many bird species have made a home.
Some hunt and eat their fill under the bridge,
Avoiding disturbance.
Others hide from predators; it is a refuge.
The water passing beneath poses no threat to them.
Sometimes, with an overflow, the bridge is swept away,
Or the bridge stands as everything else is carried off.
Under the bridge, the water flows unseen;
Here it is dark and silent.
I want to know what it is like under the bridge—
Such a small space, yet filled with tales.
Humanity has fallen at the bridge;
To the living, the bridge must be a death trap.
Locomotives suddenly fall at the bridge,
And many end up trapped beneath.
Sometimes dirt is caught under the bridge as water passes,
Leaving it stranded.
At other times the bridge produces an echo,
Or perhaps it speaks back—who knows?
The water that passes under the bridge is gone,
Never to pass again; no one crosses the same water twice.
Under the bridge.