Weathered oak planks graying and cracked
Rusted steel girders overgrown with twisted vines
The quiet rush of the river running underneath us
We sneak away and meet there
Scorching summer sun and cool autumn moon
Clasped hands out on the middle of the bridge
Legs dangling over the side
Wishing the train still came through
so two hobos could catch a ride
Making big plans to get out of a dying backwater town
before we’re choked and dragged down to rot
like this old bridge in its grave of weeds and briars
About Melissa Myers
My name is Melissa Myers. I’m from Tennessee, and I live in New England. I love exploring the rich history of this region, and I jump at every opportunity to do so. Poetry holds a special place in my heart because of its ability to connect people on an emotional level. I often find inspiration in life, love, and nature. You can find me on Facebook, Instagram, and LinkedIn.
The Inkwell And Quill 