Artistic and creative contributions from our guests at the Bridge Cafe. An assortment of poems, drawings, antidotes and exciting experiences while dining at the Bridge Cafe.
Ode to the Bridge Café
It’s been a pirate bar, brothel,
old Hungarian restaurant, food
and spirits served since 1794.
I worked nearby when we
could just afford the black
bean soup and beer at the bar.
Stories etch the plank floors, pressed
tin, and silvered mirrors, snug
in the footprint of the Brooklyn Bridge.
Conversation flowed till dawn
surprised, walking toward home
over that bridge.
The manager tells of Prohibition
‘cider’, movie sets, and now
bees harbored on the roof.
After the years of babies
and school plays we found
our way back across a different bridge.
The bartender calls Bella, honey
and she waves, leaning
on her shopping cart walker.
New menu, new chef
but the same plants crowd the window,
same square tables, red cloths.
Seaport tourists ask, please,
a bathroom? Yes, but duck
below the beams, the slanted ceiling.
We toast birthdays, anniversaries,
and Tuesday nights with raisin pecan bread,
soft shell crabs, and cabernet.
Former mayors, financiers,
and organic free-range promises
mix with whiskey and local beers.
A little drunk before we enter,
two of us, the ghosts,
and the pitched floor.
Written by: Eleanor Gaffney, our neighbor
