Smolenka Bridge

SMOLENKA BRIDGE I still well remember Before breakfast one dark morning in November From Smolenka BridgeI found myself looking down On the ducks and a ragged old woman in brown. She expected I had something to give her; So too the ducks on the river. Those were loser ducks - the ones too late In the season to find a mate Or who didn’t migrate in time To find a place with a warmer clime. All lost, in currents and tides uncontrolled, Homeless, drifters, beggars, cold. This is the result - how it ends I fear: All hanging out near The Smolenka Bridge in dark November. It’s well to remember.