Summer Bridge

It smells like tiger lilies and hyacinths,
like oranges and spices,
the smells rising off the midmorning tar
sticky with heat in the shining, humid air.
The siren song of screeching brakes,
one after another,
makes the bridge sing and resonate.
The steel girders groan deep-bass,
flashing red-gold in the haze.
Liquid fire runs through skeleton beams
as they rise high over the river,
a flat plate of dulled silver,
with a glint here and there
of metallic reflection
in the hot June day.
And all around,
the noise of cars honking,
screeching, singing a paean
of glory to the heat-melted,
traffic-jammed morning.

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