Balancing Act.

When crossing the bridge I met a fairly famous poet, he was balancing the bridge´s railing, absorbed in total concentration; under him the river flowed white and wild. Then he jumped to safety and collapsed, this because he was blotto, with the help of a passerby we got him to hospital where he was pumped. When the poet was feeling better I asked him why he was doing this balancing act and he said it was to cure him of his depression, it had worked wonders, and free of his compulsion he happily walked home to write a poem about spring. A fast car hit the curb mounted the pavement and killed our poet. Alas, when the paper wrote about the accident it forget to mention he had been a fairly famous poet.