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Rush Hour at the Bixby Street Bridge

I imagine a parade
an upstanding obstruction

down the median of the Bixby Street Bridge
gazelles
giraffes
gingerly stepping past steaming cars
gaping mouths
hands flutter

This city is on fire at sunset
the columns are majestic
but ugly
made of steal/stone
(everything crumbles)
sidewalks leading nowhere

rush hour at the Bixby Street bridge
I imagine a wake
set up on the sidewalk
mothers screaming
children's eyes aged
tables groaning under forgotten feasts
I imagine a wake
the skin of the body thin and papery
under the hands of old friends
who pause and whisper
dropping things into the casket

rush hour traffic
at the Bixby Street Bridge

I imagine a parade
Giraffes stretching into the sunset
backs loaded with gifts for foreign lovers
beautiful girls ride them sidesaddle
fanning flushed faces with silk fans
i imagine a parade
(rush hour at the Bixby Street bridge)

all eyes rolled toward the sun
half a mind on
velvet midnight.

Learn more about this author, Rachel Nelson.
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