Again, poetry in an unexpected object.
The High Level Bridge
I watch it in the shadows, hour by hour,
A black abyss that yawns against the night
With arms of steel and fingers dipped in light,
Silently calling out the city's power.
I searched its heart that beats with churlish hum
Above the river’s head. All pride and strength;
Cemented walls that spread a giant’s length
Across the plains smoke-dust has rendered dumb.
The city’s weary lumber on its tracks;
The city’s joyous frolic in its train;
The city’s poor seek shelter there from rain;
Or plod across its head with shunted backs.
Symbol of progress, flaunter of its pace,
Your city kneels before your cavernous face!
E. Coffey
There is in this the harsh conquest of built environment over nature, rendered dumb by smoke-dust. But there is also the insinuating of humanity in this monster bridge, the city's weary, the city's joyous, the city's poor each finding a place in it, giving it somehow flesh. Her close is ominous - the humans who engage with the bridge carried helplessly forward by it, the bridge becoming a mode of movement itself, and not merely the servant of the train.
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