THE BRIDGE

by David G Dickenson

THERE'S A PART OF A LANDMARK THAT STANDS TO REMIND
OF THE FOLKS ON THE LAND WE ALL LEFT BEHIND
IT TRAVERSED AN INDUSTRY FAMOUS FOR STEEL
AND ITS STILL THERE, THEIR MEMORY ON HAND TO REVEAL.

FOR WHEN I WAS A LAD IN THE YEAR FIFTY-EIGHT
A WALK ON THE BRIDGE WITH YOUR DAD WAS JUST GREAT
THROUGH INDUSTRY TEEMING WITH HOT STEAM AND SMOKE
THE SMELL OF THE STEEL WOULD OFTEN US CHOKE.

I WOULD LOOK THROUGH THE FENCE AT THESE MEN BLACK AND BLUE
THE COLOR OF PURPLE FROM SMOKE IN THE FLUE
THEIR FEATURES CONTORTED WITH SWEAT, TEARS AND TOIL
AT THE HEAT THEY ENCOUNTERED AT STEEL ON THE BOIL.

THEN FURTHER ALONG TO WHERE TRAINS WOULD PASS UNDER
AND I WOULD RUN THROUGH THE SMOKE, STEAM AND THUNDER
THE WHISTLE WOULD BLOW, A STEAM TRAIN ROARED BY
AND I WOULD STAND RIGID WITH EXCITEMENT AND CRY,

IT'S A STREAMLINE WITH TEN OR MORE CARRIAGES LONG
AS BIG ASA HOUSE OR EVEN KING KONG
I'D STAND IN THE SMOKE AS IT PASSED UNDERNEATH
AND TRY TO CATCH MOUTHFULS OF STEAM WITH ME TEETH.

THIS WAS A WALK ON THE BRIDGE WITH YOUR DAD
A WONDERFUL TIME FOR A TWELVE YEAR OLD LAD
THEN ON THE WAY BACK THE SAME THING AGAIN
THIS WAS THE BRIDGE ON THE STEEL-WORKERS DOMAIN.