by Christopher M. Drew Lucas van Oort we’d cut school and crowd the narrow bridge over the railroad, all of us together, while behind us the signalman would open the small window of his hut and bellow, Careful there, lads, step back now, but we’d laugh and on tiptoe lean over the iron railings, our loose shirt tails folding up in the breeze and flakes of rust-green paint crumbling between our fingers, and soon our bones would tremble with a sound like deep thunder and our he