Marriage

A poem

Photo by Aleksandr Barsukov on Unsplash

First,
I wait for the bridge to start burning.
Then,
I cross.

If I make it to the other side,
there you’ll be
wringing the smoke
from your hair,
a friend,
an enemy
for life.

If I don’t make it to the other side
and plunge
with the edifice
engulfed in the flames of planned mistakes,
into the jagged-toothed rapids
of last chances,
there you’ll be

diving in
to join me.