Loose gravel used to give way to dirt under your tires
Just around the back county bend from the trestle there
Don’t know whether the road’s still mud but
I’ll bet that old rust basket yet spans Big Creek
All those criss-cross girders, once maybe gray
Brown and red now these so many years
Twenty, even, since I walked it last
In my too-long West German army surplus coat I recall,
Young, with my even younger friend Nick
Talking about how it would outlast us, that bridge.
Nick now shows his art in France and NYC and Marfa, Texas
And some of the kids I taught English are in college now (God help them)
And maybe just maybe, in some ways, Nick and I,
We’re gonna outlive that bridge.