The Bridge

 In his travels he comes to a bridge made entirely of bones.
 
Before crossing he writes a letter to his mother: Dear mother, 
guess what? the ape accidentally bit off one of his hands while 
eating a banana.
 Just now I am at the foot of a bone bridge.
 I 
shall be crossing it shortly.
 I don't know if I shall find hills and 
valleys made of flesh on the other side, or simply constant 
night, villages of sleep.
 The ape is scolding me for not teaching 
him better.
 I am letting him wear my pith helmet for 
consolation.
 The bridge looks like one of those skeletal 
reconstructions of a huge dinosaur one sees in a museum.
 The 
ape is looking at the stump of his wrist and scolding me again.
 
I offer him another banana and he gets very furious, as though 
I'd insulted him.
 Tomorrow we cross the bridge.
 I'll write to 
you from the other side if I can; if not, look for a sign .
 .
 .

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