Lourdes’ Weekly Poetry Corner

March 24, 2023 • Written by Lourdes Hernandez

The River Mitch

There’s a river under my bridge,

he says his name is River Mitch.

Filled with rocks and sharp stones and such,

he’s never known a gentle touch.

A sweet old soul, the River Mitch

I sit with him, we talk a smidge...

He tells me tales, always abridged.

There’s one of him and the frog, Dutch

with stolen cars, and broken such.

Living life, flowing free and rich.

Now he lays calmly, pushing fish,

cloud gazing from under the bridge.

I visit him with story itch.

He tells me tales I love so much!

I trim the grass and weed the spludge,

so Mitch can know a gentle touch.