poetic interlude #5: the bridge / mohembo

my yellow car perched on the side of the road

and the river rushed below us,

the white, frothy peaks of waves,

the matching, watery footsteps of people spat from the sea,

and we looked out, looked up at the grandeur,

white teeth reaching for a kind of heaven,

a hand reaching for a railing, my hip,

the place where you rested at night

my hand, the thing held in abeyance,

I swear every day that week

felt like fishing near a crocodile,

the creature opens his mouth gently

to cool down, to slow his heart,

but at any moment,

you fear you could be eaten whole.