crossing bridges


  • Life

    Poem Commentary

    my hometown....if you hate it, tell me, if you like it, tell me

    crossing bridges

    crossing bridges

    pass the catholic church on the corner of north fifth and locust,
    you know the one, remember?  gothic revivalist
    stained glass windows made of honey brown ginger and blue rainbows,
    and the undertakers home next door, under the gnarled trees,
    oak probably, nothing else grows forever throughout my youth,
    the leaves are piled high, not yet raked and packed into shiny black bags,
    on the corner waiting for someone, something to take them,
    i dont know, i dont really care, i just notice and walk past,
    i still skip the cracks when i can and grimace when i land square on one,
    turn right and cross the tracks, the baseball diamonds, fallow in winter
    i want to stride across them athletically and spit on the mound,
    like i did when i was seven and eleven and fifteen,
    but i realize in a moment id rather just keep walking,
    and i cross the bridge that only one car can drive across safely,
    peering over the edge at a lone duck paddling,
    neon green golf balls winking at me from beneath four feet of water,
    i'm close to the one and only over watered over cut course in town,
    the wind is filling up my hoodie and i cant draw the strings tighter,
    i lost them, its an old hoodie, my brother wore it through basic and loaned it to me,
    but i loved the emblem of the snake on the back and kept it,
    its threadbare and im feeling a concrete cough in my chest,
    my khaki cargos are not keeping out the bitter weather, and i feel my thighs bunching,
    goose pimpling, but the view is breathtaking, sagging river full of rocks and lost projectiles,
    the gray sky and the reddish gold trees, caught in the midst of an epiphany,
    i bow my head, my legs shuffling and i briefly glimpse the cold winter sun fall,
    my stomach is empty and im thirsty, but i have to pee,
    the disc golf park is empty to my right, no minivans with taped windows idling,
    teenagers and twenty five year olds sharing cigarettes and surreptitiously smoking blunts,
    beneath soiled trees amidst broken bottles and casual tossed flourescent debris,
    a man dressed warmly in layers of cotton runs past, didnt notice me,
    his breath steaming, thinking of anything and nothing, maintaining the rhythm,
    i like to run, but im a lazy runner, i jog, i sprint, i saunter, i canter, i fucking dont care as long as i get there, half the run is just realizing that youre running, that youre doing and not sitting, passing through life at a pace you decide, i respect his effort, i think hes probably
    overtaxed and overstressed, i dont have his joys, nor do i have his sorrows,
    i have a half case of corona i left out, warm but drinkable, and a bottle of vodka im slowly killing, slowly killing me, everything is definitely trying to kill me,
    im convinced there is no way out of this alive and i sink into my easy chair, the music i have heals my soul, if in deed i thought i had one, not exactly sure,
    as i walk these indifferent, dying streets, headed home, in the town of my birth,
    twenty eight years old and still wondering if what i think is what i really mean,
    never had to test myself or struggle through a desert, my least wish has never been for more water,
    the house on my right has a tree split four ways, a genetic mutation, with a path of stone beneath,
    the house is impressive in a midwest, well kept farmhouse type way,
    but the tree is really saying something to me, i wish i had a joint, i would smoke it beneath the four arcing beams and contemplate the stupid shit that amuses me,
    nearing my destination i slow down, think of turning around, finding something worth knowing for an hour or two, this life is so fucking casual, everything happens without drama,
    repossession, dispossesion, death and cremation, birth and creation, religion and third grade science, we all fall beneath the waves and shudder from the great weight, we never lie still we never take anything too far, its all so sedated and relegated to higher authority, the vast overreaching will of the ignorant majority, its not as if im standing here thinking that i have anything worth taking,
    im just not wanting to go home because i have this vague tickling that after all my years of existing i might turn out boring, and im craving a popsicle, three colors like an american flag,
    ive got dirty change jingling and writhing in my right front pocket,
    the corner gas station is open all night and the crazies, the motherfuckers, the indigent, they live for it, they hang outside the bright yellowish light streaming from the sanitized air conditioned windows,
    they dont give me a second look, i dont give a fuck, i pay for my shit and leave, and stand on the corner, sucking on a bomb pop, the change reduced to a penny and a nickel, and my house stares back at me, the night is close around, its like inhaling liquid nitrogen,
    if i stay any longer ill fucking shatter and forget everything, and crack open all those beers, and drink all that vodka, and stay up late trying to get my dog to understand me,
    so i walk across the street and unlock my door and enter my shithole,
    there is poetry in my lack of emotion, i know, that for certain, tomorrow ill wake up,
    and think, shit, today might just be perfect....

    Poem Comments


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    kpeery09 commented on crossing bridges


    Very Nice, its an awesome piece. Keep up the good work, sure it was long, but still this is something that I would call a masterpiece. Because it has so much detail, so much awesomeness thrown into it, to where it could even become either a novel or a biography. I give you 10.



    thank you so much kpeery..sorry i left the room, had a phonecall and got caught up in other drunken endeavors...means alot that you read it and liked it

    SuSpence commented on crossing bridges


    I agree with artie, great method of description to use his term, I really enjoyed this write to, a bit differant than your other stuff, great with of prose with wonderful poetry weaved throughout providing great images for the reader, like the genetically mutated tree for example. I see you writing a Novel, this could be but just a few pages in that novel. You should do it. Great write my friend. ~Spence

    FindingJune commented on crossing bridges


    Amad, this is wonderful. Your best. *proud Junie*

    JayJ420 commented on crossing bridges


    I'm lost...I can't find the bridge!!!!!!!!!! haha it alot, it kicked my imagination with many images of home.....Jay-J

    Artie commented on crossing bridges


    I really enjoyed this. Your strength is your method of description. You know how to tell a story, which in my opinion, is something many other need to practice. 10 from me

    Poetry is what is lost in translation.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    AmadeusEx’s Poems (89)

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