By John Grey
Will bodies still be dragged from rivers?
Will people stand nervously on banks,
some pale-faced, silent,
others whispering, "Who can it be?"
Will a few just burst out into loud sobbing
that feels like it will never stop?
Will there be cop cars
with their red lights spinning?
And divers up to their knees in mud?
What about the bridge
that so many have jumped from?
Will it still stand, just as gray,
just as lit up like a birthday cake?
Will there still be birthdays?
And what about the river itself?
Will it still mimic moods?
Wild and passionate in spring?
Slow, mechanical, in summer?
Freeze up like a nun's glare
come winter-time?
A hundred years from now,
we'll all be dead.
Will that help?