Fremont Bascule

Flick of a switch and we split the drawbridge. Below us sails sailed through us, separating Rat City from her emerald twin. Gas Works Park set its sundial to zilch. We might’ve plotted murder on a lazy gray pontoon. Instead we watched the lives of others, water to wake, 35 times a day. Each ship seemed bound for something better. Long hair hardly made a ladder. Owl cars trundled over the split, long-dead passengers asleep in their seats. We lived off filched surimi and rain caught in wooden spoons. We never touched. We freed the Cut.