Poem | the pier

From the sheltered bench

overlooking the west

side view, I thought

about a girl

who’s name

escaped me.

The last time she saw me

favourably. Before I became

so desperately ashamed;

sentimental, caring,

parading and masquerading.

I read, wrapped up in winter

And there was something

about knowing there’d

be no-one around

which made the opportunity

to take the words of others

a blessing.

During yesterdays day,

I sat the east watching

the starlings land and the

gold which laced their feathers

and community’s, but now

The moon shone angry tides, and

I wondered for a moment,

as the lights flickered:

What invisible tides guide us

above water? The wrenching

waves shook calm structures

as I read. The impossible

energy beneath the boards,

bolts, steel and masonry

under my feet;

I thought, but

I couldn’t be sure

when I started

to hate most people.

I sat and read and wondered if

God wished me lonely? Or was it all

a test, and I’d win blessings in late age -

if  I could remain good?

I count blessings as

the poems I wrote

in the shelter

as the wind

picked up;

I shivered

terribly

and let the girl

whose name

escaped me,

escape me

for good.

…