City breath, foggy streets,
strange, whistling steps–
“I’m so sorry”
for ever existing
Awaited delays and sudden “death”
“Fuck that dumbass who got hit by a train,”
one moped with disappointment
Another bolt in Sunset Bridge rusting.
“Sir, what’s the next stop”
“San Francisco.”
She got off the bus
far from where she’s missed, though.
Elsewhere,
the lingering warmth of hot cocoa–
a drifter snatches
every cold penny’s wish.
“I hope he enjoys it.”
Those who walked but never crossed,
each thought unscrewed,
heart syncing, sinking
to the ramp’s beating–
each person passing by–
toward whatever comes next,
they’ll never know your fade–
just another delay.
On the ledge of purpose,
waves twirl
with gravitating indifference.
Ghost greetings,
whispered splashes,
nameless colors–
weathered nets.
“Help.”
The wind pulls up your hair–
as hope takes the shape of falling,
one big, long goodbye caress.
A man lies on a bench,
waiting for the bus,
sick, trembling hands
holding onto his dog,
vomiting the world’s cruelties.
There was no one coming.
The city sinks,
but the bridge remains–
unyielding.
