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Bridge Musings

By Diane Webster


I want to be an old wooden bridge

with slats missing, broken in dangling

pairs in mid-air dive suspension.


I want to creak or crack warnings

that never materialize

or maybe they might.

Creaks and cracks tickle my joy.


I might sacrifice a slat

to test a hiker’s reactions.

Oh, crap! They hung on.

Whoo hoo! You’re gone.

Bye, bye. It’s never my fault.


I’m an old wooden bridge;

I can do what I want!


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