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.
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