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Of Bridges.
Two childhood friends sat upon an old decaying bridge. The bridge where they shared their first cigarette, where one kissed his first girl, and the other escaped his broken home. The same bridge where they found 100 dollars once and where they always brought bottle rockets to shoot at passing cars.
They leaned and had the easy smiles alcohol and night air can provide. Behind the intoxicated, glazed eyes laid the troubles that life finds for us all. One hurt for his family, financial troubles loomed, an exceptionally close family friend was sick. The other was a heartbroken mess and generally directionless in life. As they blew smoke at the twinkling city they grew up in, the one man said to the other.
"What's the point of all this?" Becoming a drunken philosopher, he casually laid his hand on his cocked hip and turned an eye to his friend leaning haphazardly on the rusted rail.
"I 'spose to get to the other side." Laughed the other.
"I meant life, you asshole."
"So did I."
They both laughed, and were ok with that explanation, because on that bridge they were boys again and life didn't seem so hard.
Awesomely outstanding line..............
They leaned and had the easy smiles alcohol and night air can provide.
The simple brilliance of it just grabbed me. I adore your unique vernacular. Very gritty, gripping and bare bones, the way you write. Thanks for sharing. I promise I will read more. Oh and I love your id day lit moon how cool is that?...................way too cool in the mind of this middle aged broad............ Sincerely, M...........
P.S. Title of the poem is exceptional too, not a common way to place the wording............I simply adore originality in any human being.