The Railing

By Shawn Scott Smith

Smooth metal with the occasional imperfection,

Fingers long and slender tracing there way across,

The guard in red stares at the passing, silent, alone.

Her hair covers one eye, hiding grit, determination,

Footsteps, hurried, but steady to prevent alarm,

Overhead birds speak in anger, or is it sorrow?

At the end of the line a wine seller breaks a glass,

The sound a calamity in its own right,

The guard in blue starts towards her, calling, crowded.

The metal has become rough, abrasive, aged with depth.

Smoke and heat come from below, earth warmth.

The only animals left are the bugs, and nocturnal varmints.

She has walked so far down now, feet may be bloodied.

But the line is all she knows to be right, and at the end…

The guard in yellow screams, STOP, a loss.

The metal fades away and her hand goes limp,

Nothing to guide, darkness engulfs,

A smell, like a distant memory burns, and a feeling of flight.

Shawn Scott Smith is a writer, and enthusiast.

He lives in Asheville, NC with his wife, Jessica C. White and son Milo.

All of his adventures are documented on his website at luckycreature.com