The 12th Street Bridge, Fairhaven

A Depression-era bridge
finished in 1932,

so few years after the birth years
of my Dad and Mom

(not that long ago,
then).

Its stanchions serve as canvas
for taggers.

The tags don’t last,
are painted over

by the community’s
vigilant protectors

insisting that the voiceless
remain voiceless.

(I’ve admired the artfulness
of many of the tags,

grieved over new,
bland paint.)

The bridge shelters
a homeless man

and then a second.
Two homeless men, and who am I

to call them homeless,
who am I

to tell them they can’t sleep here?
(I don’t want to be that person.)

~*~

Andrew Shattuck McBride
NaPoWriMo 2014 ~ Day 5