A tall ship came
The green metal middle of the bridge swung open
And all the traffic stopped.
Some sat idling
and some turned off their engines.
We got out and picked blackberries.
Fat shiny berries tasting of summer
Leaning on tiptoe with our hands inside the thorns
We went beneath the bridge
...where the shipyards are...
And stained our fingers purple.
And when the bridge swung closed
When the metal creaked and complained
and clicked into its place
The traffic moved on.
We did not return.
We stayed below
and picked blackberries.