13thWR

THE IRON BRIDGE

I toss a line from it
and wait.
I walk across it
and listen to the clang
of my footsteps.
I watch it from
the banks below,
the one solid thing
in a world
where winds blow rough,
rivers flow quickly,
slap against pylons.
I can be alone with it,
silent and thinking.
I can hold it like a thought,
take it away with me.
It can rise up out of the dark
of my sleeplessness.
When gunshots echo
through the night,
when voices scream,
sirens roar,
it can swallow up all those sounds
with its strength, its size.
I can climb up on its shoulders
and look down upon the world
bleeding rivers.

BROWN SHIRTS

Generals goose-step in and out
of the frivolity, leadening
the waltz with knee-high boots,
tight-fisted uniforms rubbing
over their steel bones, even
the geniality of hair brushed up
inside a peaked brown cap.
You sweep your circles, step around
their grasping arms, their
kicking boots, but you can
only hold the music in your head
for so long. Eventually, you
hear their melodies. Eventually,
you're body to body with them
and it's not dancing.

- John Grey