A Boy on the Bridge

Boy on the Bridge

Winter, cold; snow and ice
Coating roads, sidewalks
Morning rush hour
Cars speeding across the bridge
A boy, standing
On the wrong side
Near the edge
He looked at me
His brown eyes wide, whites showing.
I never saw eyes that wide
Wrong, this is all wrong.
This boy on the bridge
His eyes, pleading. I couldn’t stop,
I couldn’t.
911, 911, I called,
We’ll send out a car, she said.
A car.
But he’s just a boy, on the wrong side of the bridge. He’s on the edge.
Car, we’ll send one, don’t worry. Words designed to placate me.
Later I called …
The boy on the bridge …
We sent a car, no one was there. There was no boy.
There had been a boy on the bridge.
And four days later they found his body,
Under the bridge, in the water.
All because no one did their job.
And I shall remain forever haunted
By those wide brown eyes
That called to me
And I didn’t answer

Nick DiChario

Reader, writer, life-long mistake-maker

Judith Shenouda

Author of Living Well in Froggy's World of Plenty: Sweet Talk to Read Aloud; A Bisl of This, A Bisl of That: Eating Our Way; and Career Success in 12 Easy Steps: A Journal; and Owner of Shenouda Associates Inc., Provider of Technical, Marketing, and Business Communications

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