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Poetry
End of the pier
He took a winter walk
on a frozen pier,
passed the sign that said danger,
in need of repair.
He knew how that felt.
The waves lapped way below his feet,
occasionally whipped up
by a north east wind
which failed to turn the tide,
pushed him roughly on his way.
He swerved the missing planks
and rotten struts that seemed to tempt him,
like a cliff’s edge to an acrophobe,
waiting to bury his head in the sand
‘ till the sea waltzed his body.
The object of his walk got nearer,
shaking slightly on its mounting.
Coated with weather,
it pointed bluntly to the grey sea-skyline;
only the telescope knew where.
He delivered his coin in the salted slot,
swung the tube towards the town
producing a lack of oil creak
and the crack of guano, dried on the pivot.
He leaned back on the rail to see.
Some light, dark alleys, curtains,
a burned out van; everything deserted, especially the beach,
not a soul, no-one to wave to.
Then something snaps, timed out, just a dark circle;
the telescope swings slowly back, resumes point zero.
Copyright Bare Nibs 2009