Bridge

There is a small concrete bridge that links my tiny riverine island to the north bank. I believe there is a story under it. I wouldn't take too much looking to find it. I should stand there and watch the slow, black and fish smelling canal beneath. I shouldn't mind the zipping-honking traffic or weird looks from pedestrians. They never halt on the bridge but hurry on as if afraid it will totter down any second, into the black water below. Leaning on the pitted concrete handrail, I should stand facing the western sundown like a open mouthed gargoyle and then, I would know what it is. With darkness I will glide away like a laden freighter leaving port. I will carry that story away.