It sang when you crossed it, in car or jalopy
The steel of its deck rang a tuning fork “C”
We kids in the back seat sang a high octave copy
Or essayed a two- or three-part harmony.
That tune never aged, the thrill was consistent
For infant or teenager, grown-up or senior
Whatever the topic, each one was resistant
To speak over the hum — a faux pas, misdemeanor:
A funeral whistle, mid-Mass radio
That could wait for a time more sedate and propitious—
During the coffee commercial for some old TV show
Or folding the underwear, washing the dishes.
Looking through the steel deck to the river below
I imagined the wreck if my body should slip
Through the spaces too cramped for my shoulders to go—
Borne to sea by the river if I lost my grip.
As a teen I once rode my new bike on that deck.
My tires both caught on the grating and jerked—
Front went right, back went left; chills up my neck,
Spine stiffened, the pedals I furiously worked
As dump trucks and buses an inch from my handlebars
Made my breath catch in my paralyzed chest.
The drivers zipped by with the screeching of rock guitars
Not slowing down to give a cyclist a rest.
I rode fast, not daring to decelerate
Lest I carom too far to the left or the right,
For the pull of bike rubber on rusty steel grate
Might put starving bears off of their appetite.
So, cycling back crost the bridge from the West
I sought a safe path just as solid as rock.
Crises survived build up wisdom the best:
I rode back the stone-hard pedestrian walk.
But though it might stick in this old man’s mémoir,
That terrible ride was but one of a thousand
Of fine, tuneful trips where I joined in the choir
Of steel trusses, grates and car tires carousin’.
The emerald span set on art deco piers
That my great-grandpa cut with his stone mason’s tools:
Its droning concerto will not leave my ears
Till I trade the black river for heavenly pools.
Photo courtesy Julien Olivier.
"Jean's Thrilling Ride O'er Le Pont Notre Dame"...