[6] Under a Bridge

I went to the bridge
And stumbled below
The writing was on the wall
From Japan to Peru
And old Timbuktu
We gather to answer the call

Empty liquor bottles
Discarded beer tins
Burnt candles
And spent cigarettes
Hand written messages
Half hidden in the dirt
Kept down by hand-painted stones
Sticks of incense
Wild animal bones
A bottle that sounds like Teen Spirit

I sit for a while
And ponder the day
Brought me to this shrine
I draw on my reefer
Become a believer
Remember an old friend of mine

When I awake
No longer alone
A boy speaks
The voice of a man
Got a cigarette
Buddy
Can you spare me a dime
Clothes muddy and wet
Hair matted with sweat
Old boots torn and covered in grime

Two girls clamber down
Faces locked in a frown
Is this where he slept they both cry
I smile nodding yes
This is the place
The man smiles at me with a sigh

The girls take some snaps
Touch the wall with great gasps
And laugh as they take in the sight
It's a dream it is said
Both shaking their head
To be here were he slept in the night

That day in the Pourhouse so soon
Met up with the ladies at noon
Their faces were frail
So sickly and pale
All trembling and starting to swoon

I looked at the pics
My heart skipped a beat
I knew I was in a bad dream
The girls heard my sighs
As tears filled my eyes
The man is not there in the scene

Got drunk to the night
As we talked of our plight
Laughed and cried
As we walked in the rain
We drifted to bed
Thoughts of love in our head
On the day that we met Kurt Cobain

I wrote this poem when I lived in Aberdeen WA, where Kurt was born and grew up. I went to the bridge under which Kurt is reputed to have slept during a period of homelessness. A framed copy of the poem adorns the wall of the Pourhouse, an Aberdeen bar where Nirvana played in their very early days.