Belly of the Bridge
I thought it was some hallucination or maybe the Shiraz.,
as I watched the man who called the belly of the bridge his home.
His arms and legs flailed through the air like he was kicking and screaming for sanity.
Was this his entertainment for those who rode by nightly in the riverboat?
Perhaps it was his own?
Or maybe he was acting out some nightmarish skit from his past.
Someone said he must be high.
I might be as well if I lived his life.
The speed of the boat forsook my steps as I tried to keep him in sight.
All alone he stood unshaven, unkempt, and perhaps unloved.
Was it a curse or a blessing?
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