Under the bridge

 I was walking down

to sign some checks

at church. The rains

had paused their pouring

so I stopped on the bridge

across the creek

to watch the flow below.

A man with two

toddlers in tow

stood back as they

peered between

the slats of the bridge.

The younger one turned

to me with a smile

that expressed her joy

as if to say “look at that”.

Then she said, wawa, wawa

and my mind fell into

a cursed rhyme, Gaza, Gaza

and the image I’d seen

on the news the night before

of a toddler swathed

against the cold and shallow flood

creeping into her family’s tent.

I looked where the wee one

pointed and smiled back.

and continued on my way,

even churches have bills to pay.