The Bridge
The footbridge beneath Seneca Rocks
Bore a sign that said "Unsafe";
An easily surmounted X of two-by-fours
Pretended to bar passage.
We signed false names to the visitors'
register,
Sophomores playing children all
too well,
And crossed, laughing pointlessly,
As the bridge swayed gently above
the shallow water.
If there is moral difference
Between the negligent eleven year
old boy
And the post-adolescent male in
spring,
It remains beyond my ken.
I remember rock-climbers, ropes across
their shoulders,
Blondes in knee-socks, shorts, and
Swiss-girl braids,
Striding determinedly forward
As we lounged on the trail, enjoying
speckled sunlight.
11-19-99
