Under the Bridge
is a Troll. It’s the same Troll it always was, with
chicken-of-the-woods face, ears like green-necked
rutabagas, and morning breath from getting by
on lumpers with late blight. It still has to hide from
sunlight, hunt when it won’t be seen. It used to do
all right, but that was when there were plenty of goats
in Gotham. Now the goats are gone, so are the wagons,
and children don’t wander by in the night.
But the bridge – the bridge is not the same at all.
The whole time they were putting New Bridge up,
Troll had to hide in a culvert. New Bridge is big,
concrete, good for sleeping under by day, but Troll
can’t catch a proper meal. Nothing trip-traps over
great, grey New Bridge. Instead, giant metal dragons
roar over with their white eyes. Troll is so hungry,
sometimes it tries to snatch a smallish dragon, then
quivers under New Bridge, whimpering and sucking
on its broken paws.