Simon Wilson
The Bridge at Bakewell
trout
in clear waters
how many years
have we looked down at them
as we cross the bridge
It is one of our favourite spots, the footbridge between the car park and the town. Trout lurk in its shadow, dozens of them waiting in the clear water to see what the river brings. Their tails mimic the movement of the gently waving water weed.
We have been using the bridge for thirty years and lately, people have taken up the modern habit of expressing their love by putting a padlock on the side rails. There are all sorts: steel ones with varying degrees of rust and brass ones not yet aging. Some of the coloured ones are heart-shaped. Messages are marked in felt tip, or scratched in. Some are properly engraved.
It is hard not to speculate on the fate of the relationships. My wife is obviously thinking the same thing.
“It’s safer than having a tattoo,” she says.
crepuscular rays
light the evening clouds
day is closing
I did not know their names
until you told me
About the Author
Simon Wilson has been a poultry farmer, salesman, antique dealer, gardener, and instructor on a Care Farm. He now works in a coin shop and wishes he had tried harder at school.
Excellent verses – and fine prose description of the trout/weed
I like the idea of the trout waiting flexibly under the frozen life of the padlocks of love.
Thank you Derrick.
Thank you Tom, I hadn’t thought of that. Strang how words take on new meanings when other people look at them.
Oh, this is so beautiful! I see it as a love poem. You have a favorite spot (for 30 years). And even though you don’t do the lock thing together (and, Lord forbid, get a tattoo to proclaim your love), in the last part you mention that the beams you notice and admire have a name. And you only know the name because of her. Just lovely.
Great bio, too!
Thank you. I’m fairly sure it is a love poem, though it didn’t start off to be one. 🙂