The Other Side Of The Tracks

I

The bridge on 22nd

It’s that way

Please walk me home. 

  You say

  "I'm walking alone"

When we get to the path

Under 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 east side comfort                                               

Close is my world.                                     

Shattered glass, debris, and smell                 

You think it's hell 

This tunnel, to home

I'm walking alone.

Your fading away into the night

Your not looking back 

Your gone...

But, close is my street

And yes you were right

Some danger dewlls on this side

For me to greet.

Under the bridge, hold a breath

His slow smile and suffled sound

 Is hiding in shadows, but it’s only Lucas, 

Coming around...too close.

“I'm OK tonight” I say 

No chaperone needed, "you stay longer"

I'm walking away.

Under the bridge

The other side of the tracks

I've let my memory linger

and think of my date, who 

never looked back.

Growing up on the Eastside of Bayonne, I had to cross under the tracks to get home. There are 2 bridges and tunnels to choose from and its still considered a dark industrial area with homes. It was also a Polish neighborhood, bars that stay open for the morning shift of workers, and 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.