the bridge

the gentle music of my heels walking along the bridge
tuneless passengers in noisy round-trip-to-home trains pass underneath
but thirty-seven steps resonate with instant happiness
other bridges don't make my feet sing
don't know how they made this one do it
but the joy is pure
they don't normally sound elsewhere, my steps
they seem to prefer a quietness
not announcing my arrival with clicking heels on parquet floors
like so many self-important heel-clicking strutting people
unwisely invested in singing leather soles
better made for tap-dancing entertainers
(yet many have experienced expensively leather-claded feet exhilaration
trumpeting their approximate time of arrival, step by step,
it's highly over-rated…)
the poor underestimated toad in search of his magical kiss
has a princely song, heard miles away
which is often sweeter than unwanted heels singing out of tune
and the magnificence of a tiger
is never lessened by his stealthful approach
so a normal stroll down the office corridors
will appease sensitive ears
life is not always a properly set stage
prompted for Shakespearean declaiming

straying social comments muddle
musical comedy choruses of robust romanticism

other bridges offer breathtaking visions
famous vistas for postcards
but every day my feet sing a different song
my favorite bridge traces from my steps
rainy days there's a gentle bong
summer heat makes quiet rounder thuds
but the best song comes from a cold winter day
when they resound merrily with pings and pangs
borrowed from Turandot
(the earlier robust Puccini romanticism)
like the troubadours of another time
in drunken song
and lover's laughter
not bad for one pair of feet in simple shoes!




                   the bridge
                   17 february, 2005