The Woman Under The Bridge

The Woman Under The Bridge

On my way to school

I always used to see

This woman –

With torn and dirty clothes

With six or seven children

Dying to suckle

At her ailing breasts

And though she looked poor

Her face was beautiful.

At the roundabout

Under the bridge that flies

Over the cars underneath –

Our cars underneath

Circling her

Like the sharks in cartoons.

I saw her and now cannot forget

The woman under the bridge.