The Lunatic ON THE BROOKLYN BRIDGEPerhaps you’re one of the many dots at sunsetI see moving slowly or standing motionless,Watching either the gulls in the sky or the bargeWith a load of trash passing on the river below.The one, whose family doesn’t want to hear from,On his way to a night class in acting, passingAn old Chinese waiter going in the opposite direction,And a bodybuilder and a nurse holding hands.And what about the one I’m always hoping to run into?Though I barely remember what she looked like?She could be one of the few that have lingered on,Or the one that vanished since I last glanced that way.