The Tunnel (poem)

Oil painting of tunnel

 

 

 

The Tunnel

 

They two

bent like marsh grass under the prow

of a canoe that glides through fog of daybreak

And here the air filled

with a delicate miasma too

They had reason leaning towards each other

to feel safe emerging from the tunnel

They might have stepped down

Their rings ringing

Against the chipping paint of the iron

railing

Weighing themselves pressed heavily

pushed the uprights from the concrete

crumbling at its base

One day it will all fall

And full of bafflement

the accident investigator

will mark the pool in the stairwell

Another entering alone

Shoulder blades shown projecting through

his coat in the harsh light of the

halogen lamp overhead

Heads down one level and the next

The drop onto the tracks

is but a sleep

 

 

 


The Tunnel

Thumbnail of cover for The Poor Belabored BeastBuy Beast on Amazon
Quid pro fauxbia

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(2016, Stephanie Foster)

 

 

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