Running The Humber Bridge Poem by Martin Ward

Running The Humber Bridge

With eighteen miles
already ran, through
city streets almost
complete in past
and present
Victorian splendour:
heightened smells
still linger, whilst
sinews await
the aches
to come.
Quaysides
and estuary
build to a
crescendo here:
approached as if
a Royal Mile,
with slightest
camber bowing
to the regal Humber.
It is not the height
that triggers wonder,
but the sights
far distant:
grey and melting
into green,
such hues
that marry
earth and sky
by watercolour.
My steel and
concrete saviour
holds me up,
near cars that
carry faces
which I read,
rightly or wrongly.
Oxymoron thoughts
of bewilderment or
admiration for those
who choose
to endure this
self-inflicted
ecstasy.
The bridge ran twice;
just six more miles
of Hull to go.