The Mersey Way

On Saturday afternoons
my brother and I would lean
over the iron bridge
to watch the murky water
slither between black rocks,
and tell each other
we saw rats.

One Saturday afternoon
came a machine
that with a gasp of steam
between each thud
battered steel rods
into black rocks
to carry a road.

Now, every afternoon,
shop–dazed along the Mall
the townsfolk saunter.
Under their feet,
threading between black rocks
(and maybe rats)
the Mersey gropes its way.