Catwalk

I walk from open grass fields into 

the amalgam of glass and concrete,

obscuring sky with sharp angles,

vacant buildings, until the slender 

brown footpath through

pawpaw trees and poke leads

me past rushing canal waters

down a ladder, ten feet to silver 

steel and iron bars. A two foot wide

grid extends like a mirage into the distance

above a forty inch diameter

metallic colon, flushing waste

somewhere down river.

I stroll lazily beneath

iron black arches creating optical illusions,

train tracks from mountains headed to the sea, 

creosote’s odor, coal train’s screeching

wheels overhead. Watch buzzards circle.

It is Sunday or any day of the week,

the scene is the same along the pipeline, 

look left, wild life – five men, river sand in their hair, 

glazed eyes, some unconscious, but 

I am not a ghost, keep walking turning my back to

strange men with pony tails and women whose

weak perfume mingles with southern breezes.

The catwalk ends, 

lowers me to boulders of cinnamon

and chocolate, hollows carved slowly

by liquid knives, I climb into clear water. 

My feet slip on the silt, one foot too far

I’m swept under rapids.

For a few seconds I lose my fear of death, 

my body cools, my heart doesn’t stop beating, 

I emerge under azure skies, green trees, 

the white sun blazes.

•