Adapt

On this peaceful morning,
the mirror of the Tyne
records everything
with a glassy certainty,
a photographic memory,
instantly reproduced.

You are a large eye
staring blankly down river,
looking sleepily at the skyscrapers and the Sage,
placid but complicit.

Standing in the middle,
I feel you come alive.
A subtle jolt, slight but deep,
makes my heart leap at the dark thrill of something impending.

And gradually your perfect arc is broken,
footbridge climbing upwards,
motionless motion.

Adapted, you are no longer graceful,
double-eyed,
a broken bangle,
a discarded toy;
yet hold your new shape proudly,
a gymnast on a watery beam.

And the Old Man of the Tyne
looks benignly upon you.
Pleased to have a spanning companion,
he gazes fondly,
an icon indulging his little sister,
allowing her strangeness, her movement,
a reassuring bond.


There are many bridges on the Tyne. The most iconic is the sturdy green Tyne Bridge and the newest is the Millenium Bridge, which opens by folding in on itself and lights up at night. The two bridges - oldest and newest - face each other, about half a mile apart.