John Berryman’s Last Walk
It’s a fridge cold Minnesota day.
The poet crunches to Washington Avenue Bridge
looks down on three inch ice
beneath the iron span, turns to wave
at a young woman, a passer-by whose face
will freeze and drain
in the time it takes to climb the rail
and drop his flapping shadow
through the thick-skinned Mississippi.
A version of this poem was first published in London Grip in March 2012.