Trestle Jumping Poem by George Witte

Trestle Jumping


Chains barricade the gravel exit ramp
our bankrupt state abandoned years ago.
Unlatched, the way descends to miles of road
invisible on maps, near overgrown,
eroded where low water tunnels through.
Lights out we race pitch lanes between faint lines,
full moon our sightless, disembodied guide.
Only those who don't fear dying drive. Eyes
wild or cool, no-one eases off or brakes
before the trestle bridge, graffitied span
a palimpsest of wills and testaments.
GODBOY DOA XXRIP
Inebriate but sobered up we strip
to briefs, cinch bungee cords around slick waists
and climb the piton-studded vertical.
Each handhold ratchets up a body's length
until we reach the overpass, fix rope
around protruding rebar and prepare.
A radio suggests alternatives:
Be like they are…we'll be able to fly.
Step off and try embracing air, our screams
the secret names of all who sang in kind.

From An Abundance of Caution (Unbound Edition Press,2023)