The Black Bridge

Sun was climbing in the bright sky
Shone on fields of stubble, after harvest.
We were little lads out on adventure
With shorts and sticks we made our way
Beside the slow river, looking for lost
Bits of tackle, line and fishing gear.
By trampled swim we poked and searched.

Moving on we looked for plums at edge
Of old orchard, long-abandoned now.
On a fence hung a dead, black crow,
Maggots wriggling fat in decaying meat.
And passed near the place by a ditch
Where bloated cow had lain all winter.

Back on the river bank we saw it coming
Bumping down the dusty track
Old blue Fordson Major with trailer
Sinister bundle inert upon the boards.

We saw too the distant black bridge
That took steam trains over the river.

Twisted rope hanging down, death-line
Hanging down from the life line
That ran across the bleak marsh.

Money problems they said to me
But that meant nothing
Nothing at all to me.

Martin Delemare
10th November 2006