Poems – End of The Pier


End of The Pier

Too scared to go on,
her stopping point was always
where the shingle became water,
while he strolled on –
out to the end of the pier.

Year on year she’d watch him recede,
passing the rides and amusement arcades,
his stooping gait, hands behind back –
until he was suspended at the furthest point.

And that is how it was.
He at one end
she at the other.

This poem appears in #40 of The Journal.
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