Crossing the Trestle-In Young America

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This poem is in my book Ripples. It was written for a poetry course at UWM

Railroad ties are the pavement under me I count each as I go Below the rusty waters of the Milwaukee River flow An old ladder hangs over the side Some passerby has left their graffiti in white The tracks get closer as my eyes follow them away I stop to smell the sweet fragrance as it wafts my way I feel the summer breeze And imbibe in my eyes the greenery An old man shouts "Get off of there!" I pay him no mind Because the train is never on time, while I cross the trestle in Young America

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