Unplanned Obsolescence

Sapper’s bridge was built in 1827
across the Rideau Canal,
joining Upper Town and Lower Town:
two dubious parcels of cedar swamp.
The newly-cleared land was speckled sparingly
with barracks, an office, a hospital, the grey stone commissariat.
On the opposite side of the river,
Hull, grown fat upon its tree stumps, looked on
as blacksmiths, carpenters, malaria patients
crossed the young and tenuous lifeline.

In 1912, it was demolished
to yield the right of modern way
to Union Station.

They tried dynamite.
No dice.

In the end, they hoisted up
– fifty feet in the cold December sky –
– and let loose – 
a two-tonne weight.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The stubborn stone arch
outlived its parent engineers
and eluded their children’s children’s children.

Now hotels, condos, federal buildings,
embassies, boutiques cram the crowded neighbourhood.
The barefoot traffic of Irish canal-diggers,
the dung and threat of typhoid
cut scene to fleets of OC Transpo, taxicabs and high heels.
On the eighteenth floor nearby,
a retiree shakes his head
before his dying kitchen toaster:
“They don’t make them like they used to.”

© Catherine Brunet