Highway Bridge

Upon this toll-free bridge the right of way

is straight ahead across the scaly stream

of laminated zinc which does not pass

but fixes boats upon its looking glass,

reflects the harried ocean-hungry scream

of barges gathered for the hoop-skirt dance of day.

ELwoop DAILY

Upon the water cars move on and on,

the passing busses filled with things who sleep or talk-

tears come as strangers there, a stone can't cry;

a stone can't live and does not want to die,

but stones are hard and by their being balk

at being told to hurry, hurry on.

Across the bridge in never ending race

they cross, this business of city's beating heart

and arteries corpuscle-fed with drugs,

a transient dog, apartment searching bugs

all cross, recross, just far enough apart.

How strange that on a bridge each has a place.