The Butler Pennsylvania Poems

Out Along 422

It is no longer in use
the rusty bridge over a creek
on an old country road
not far from home.

Not many see it
wasting away quietly
just off the berm
of the new superhighway
as they go speeding by.

On autumn afternoons
it lies there outstretched
lazily fluffing leaves
the oak trees
have decked it out in.

At other times you see it
with knees cramped up
or lying on its side
watching leaves fall
on shallow water
to float in lagging circles
before parting
in the bobbing current
just beyond the rocks.

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