the way the cars are suspended
halfway down a sixty-degree incline
on that crumbled bridge is
poetic in it's beauty;

like a moment forever frozen
in time, the lives in this scene
stopped at six o'clock on the
first day of the eighth month
in the seventh year as this
massive structure
fails.

you can wander down and take a look,

cars going half way up or
half way down, either
headlong or in a backslide
which ever way you choose to
see it; but there they sit
still and silent, shocked by
the violent decay caused
so rapid on this now
empty expressway

the signs from side roads
point to a bridge that is
no longer there;
police tape blocks entrances
as if no one was the wiser
that up ahead there is
nothing anymore

and life goes on for all
over different roadways
detours around a part
of our consciousness that
no longer exists;

only the cars, suspended
sixty degrees
somewhere between the
end of the bridge and
the beginning,
have a recollection.

08/08/2007

Posted on 08/08/2007
Copyright © 2024 Andrew S Adams