The Other Side Of The Tracks

It's that way

The bridge on 22nd

There's danger

Shelter 

Walk me home. 

You say I'm walking alone,
When we get to the bridge.

There's no light
Agree on dim
Water dripping,
Footsteps breathing,
Damp air moans 

I'm walking alone,
Under the bridge.

Where the city ends 
There's comfort,                                               
Close is my world.                                     
Shattered glass, debris, and smell.                 
You think it's hell 

This tunnel, to home
I'm walking alone.

You fade away 

into the night

not looking back 
Your gone...

So close is my street

while a ghost dwells on stairs

For me to greet

Under the bridge, hold a breath
It's only Lucas, slow smile & sound
Coming around
I'm OK this time, nearing home 

I say to him, "you stay longer"
I'm walking alone.

Under the bridge
The other side of the track
I've let my memory linger
to my date, who 
never came back.

Growing up on the Eastside of Bayonne, I had to cross the tracks to get home. There are 2 bridges and tunnels to choose from and its still considered an industrial area with homes. It was also a Polish neighborhood, bars that stay open for the morning shift of workers, there was a motorcycle gang 'The Eastside Sinners', endless fields, an ancient cemetery, junkyards, oil tanks and a place called The Millions for crabbing and fishing, and my old home which still stands there today. I watched the World Trade Center towers being built from my roof and loved going to the basement to cool off on hot humid days. I always felt safe on that side of the tracks, and somehow I knew that night that my date was not walking me all the way home.