At the End of the Pier
Her rib cage, her wasted bones
straddle the tidal water,
her skeleton bare to the winds
smarting salt tears.
Her empty shell with its whorls
of plaster moulded and gilded
and her sugar icing scrolls
racked by flames and storms.
She reflected the sun at sunset
in her glass domes. In those rooms
of plush and panache the chandeliers
swung like the crystal earrings
of that era of whalebone waists
before the flappers took over
and blazers and bandanas
came out in the twenties' sun.
And the band played on
with an’Oom pah pah, oom pah pah’—
the tuba setting the tone.
On her walk–ways the shop girls
strutted their Saturday stuff—
rode the Dodgems, took the Ghost Train,
put pennies in the slot
to see `What the Butler Saw'.
They were all there, the wide boys
at the coconut shies—Bess
with the wall eye selling candy floss
and Rose with her crystal ball.
At the end where the waves jerked
through the girders the fishermen stood
chewing their pipes, leaning over the railings,
glad to be free of their wives.
Then there were a few suicides—
going out with a splash.
Make an end of this end–of–all–seasons
sadness, let her slip away
gently to the water, fly flags for her
who was the toast of the town in her hey–day
and let the cornets play but bury her
to the sound of tubas.
straddle the tidal water,
her skeleton bare to the winds
smarting salt tears.
Her empty shell with its whorls
of plaster moulded and gilded
and her sugar icing scrolls
racked by flames and storms.
She reflected the sun at sunset
in her glass domes. In those rooms
of plush and panache the chandeliers
swung like the crystal earrings
of that era of whalebone waists
before the flappers took over
and blazers and bandanas
came out in the twenties' sun.
And the band played on
with an’Oom pah pah, oom pah pah’—
the tuba setting the tone.
On her walk–ways the shop girls
strutted their Saturday stuff—
rode the Dodgems, took the Ghost Train,
put pennies in the slot
to see `What the Butler Saw'.
They were all there, the wide boys
at the coconut shies—Bess
with the wall eye selling candy floss
and Rose with her crystal ball.
At the end where the waves jerked
through the girders the fishermen stood
chewing their pipes, leaning over the railings,
glad to be free of their wives.
Then there were a few suicides—
going out with a splash.
Make an end of this end–of–all–seasons
sadness, let her slip away
gently to the water, fly flags for her
who was the toast of the town in her hey–day
and let the cornets play but bury her
to the sound of tubas.
Page(s) 45
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