Deep

Deep, impersonal bridge
no longer used,
isolated, broken in bits,
I salute thee,
half-deadly and boring,
the kids loved to visit you,
to smoke, kill things, cry at clouds
they thought about too long,
have their first kiss,
maybe first something more,
ask who Cindy Sherman is,
first groundhog shot
and furtherama of tears,
self-torture, lotteries
of the souls of other people,
sleeping with them,
owning them, being owned,
abandoning pets
who probably died alone,
and finally,  one of them
left hanging from it,
while the others
weathered on
into age, nostalgia
for being where no one
would ever think to look for you.