“What is an influence?” I was asked.
“Guillaume Apollinaire.” I replied. “He wrote in circles you know”.
“Was he poetic society?”
“So you feel you are that too?”
“No. I cannot find society. That reads”.
“Well what do you do about that”.
“I visit my covered bridges.”
“Visit them? I’ve done that too.”
“No you haven’t. You’ve just driven through them
I visit them; their society.
No one is ever there.
Except on rare occasion; a ‘someone there’.
That’s the society of it; them there. Or not there.
I don’t care.”
Mostly, it is very empty; their visits.
But every now and then there is a poet
Visiting the same bridge that I visit
Just right there then.
Sometimes we exchange pleasantries
But I’d rather not
And if they do... it is a signal that
Society is better lost
At a covered bridge.
I am very protective of my covered bridges
I don’t let on
Even when I am standing in one.
Just better to not say anything
You know what I mean.
And I can’t take the old bridge home with me.
So much of what I did or did do
Was a covered bridge.
They get wash down stream you know
With my cover bridges;
I have had a lot of that; the washed away.
I do not really stand back and view that.
Just tried to do a good job of it.
Then let chance comeback on a visit
To that bridge and
Discover its cover is still intact;
It is still a ‘my covered bridge’
“There: That one”.
Your not suppose to talk about this
I have a few books on them; covered bridges.
Open to a page and ‘There’s one’.
“I’ve been to that one” (visited it)
“Stood right over there. Had a postcard of it. Once.
My covered bridge stood next to me right then.
Everything was just fine and it was middle fall and
Colored leaves blew along the sand of the road just like
They are suppose to. I remember watching them
The leaves blow in the dry fall sand. I didn’t even know
I could see that: Dry fall sand blowing.
When I am visiting my cover bridges.
Leave the book open to a page to remind yourself