In The Bridge's Shadow Poem by Brian Rihlmann

The sidewalk runs straight,
following the bridge
across the river,
while a dirt path veers right
into the bushes.

My curious feet
abandon concrete
in puffs of dust
over trampled weeds
to an abandoned encampment
nestled in a pine grove.

Old blankets, cigarette butts,
styrofoam containers
and empty plastic bottles
of no name bourbon
and vodka litter the ground.

Matted hollows
in dense grass
where bodies have laid,
their lonely heads
full of drunken dreams.

I tiptoe, peering around
as though I've trespassed
on some sacred burial ground,
as a foghorn sounds
from the harbor below
and the ships come and go,
gliding through the dark water
in the bridge's shadow.