Perhaps it’s seen better days,
And perhaps we all have.
There was a time when it was brand new.
A much needed crossing over
An impassable chasm.
These endearing engineers,
Designed a bridge of iron and steel,
And concrete.
Built to last.
Just like everything used to be built.

Perhaps, baby,
We’re rusted and weathered,
Where we had been flashy and beautiful.
Things tend to oxidize.
It’s a natural occurrence.
We’d put off fresh coats
Of protective paint,
And mundane maintenance.
And now we’re a black and white photo,
Of an old bridge.

People seem to want shiny and new,
And pristine.
But perfection is a perception.
We’re so quick to throw away,
The corroded and degraded…
Like this bridge.
But it’s got character,
And it’s got experience.
Along with knowledge or perhaps,
Wisdom from living and loving.

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Brooks Thomas is a history teacher, runner, and occasional poet who writes in a lyrical style. He currently lives in Forest City, Pennsylvania, but has also called Pittsburgh and the DC/Maryland/Virginia region his home. Brooks has been published in several anthologies and literary magazines in the United States, Britain, and Canada. You can find his most recent works on Instagram @brooks_thomas_poetry.