A Brief History of Pleasure Piers
It was from outer space, the triumph of fantasy
over pedestrians, the deniable alkalinity of the ocean.
One morning, it simply appeared in Ryde.
It just stood there, the waves lapping
and the seagulls lamenting, and otherwise silence,
gobsmacked tenpins, autonomous skateboards,
the daylit agape of the concrete soup bowl,
somewhere out in the bay
birdman plummeting from the sky,
the sun a boiling bowling ball,
silhouettes dancing across the horizon. End times.
So it was we went up to Devil’s Dyke hesitantly
and followed the white ribbon along the spine
of the downs, caught in loops
of parallel anxiety.
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