My trepid step
has long abandoned
carefree whips of youth,
Thus, gingerly I test
the bridge for traction,
A full beam darkness
buckles back
the harness of my shame
misleading
ever older bones
across this gaunt canal
fleshing the knuckle of the conversation that started with, "The bridge, by me is ****** with ice"
Caution is a boomerang, that, once thrown- may disappear for years- but it will return, and return hard-
For me, it's in my early 50's- approaching a decking bridge, slick with ice, reaching into my pocket and thinking "****!, where did that boomerang come from?"
I crossed the bridge- it was pathetic- thank the Lord and all his bearded chums, it was dark...