At 2 a.m. I saw her –
She hung her body like meat
in the entrance to the pier
– that pleasure palace.
She’s haloed by a streetlamp
opposite Peggy Sue’s.
She takes my hand and draws me
beneath the pier.
The sea folds back on herself
like money.
I hear the murmur of
her business as my pleasure.
She doesn’t take long.
I don’t take long. But long enough.
Police lights wink through underworld
strut work and I’m running
over sliding shale.
– Just one more pissed up fantasy as I
stood beside the club eyeing
the laughing girl by the van,
– Excuse me officer, has anyone handed in my sobriety?
I lost it somewhere earlier this evening.
Perhaps it’s with my umbrella
which also I have lost …?
– Yeah, all right, move along.
Do you want me to nick you, or what?
Sometimes, when the dark wave sounds
like thunder beneath the pier
and I swing at oncoming revellers
I think
even that contact
would be enough.
