Little while ...

              Just for a week

                   There will be

             A bridge, a metal

   Bridge over the space

That the claw-car digs –

For pipes, I think –

Dusty & noisy, but

Gone in a blink

So “Enjoy it”

I tell myself,

     Riding by

   On Rucio (my

    Little Robinson

With his cruiser seat –

        Studs rusted soft –

Higher than the handles)

             & riding back

          Again for lunch

 Past – standing there

             On the bridge –

   An old man watching

  Claws (I guess) before

        He continues down

             The grass hill trail

    That didn't used to have

                  A little bridge,

                     & won't again