Under The Bridge

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Dysfunctional Poetry
There, but for the grace of God...

Submitted: January 27, 2019

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Submitted: January 27, 2019

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Under The Bridge

 

It’s midnight

Under the North Bend Bridge

I hear the traffic

Thundering by overhead

Casino patrons and tourists headed home

While I try to sleep

Inches beneath their tire tread

Huddled in a hand made hollow

In the soft red earth

It’s as if I’ve dug my own open grave

My soiled garments wreak

Of sweat and piss

Can’t remember

The last time I bothered to shave

“ANYTHING HELPS”

Is my mattress

But I’ve no blanket or bag

To block out the black night’s cold

No medicine to combat the hacking that comes

Once autumn’s icy chill takes hold

All of my worldly wealth

Is stashed in this backpack

All of my dreams

Washed away with the tide

Holy hope is a no strings attached handout

Folks like me can’t afford too much pride

Once upon a time

I was loved and I was cared for

Suckled at my mother’s breast

Who’d have thought then

That I would become invisible

Way back when

Who woulda guessed

A homeless vagabond

A derelict

Street person

A bum

In my youth

This is not what I aspired to be

So let my way of being

Serve as fair warning

To those with open eyes

You could fall victim

Just as easily as me

 

Bcm 9/18/2018

 


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