THE RED PIER
When I saw you alone and crying, the dark swallowing up your form,
I thought I must be dreaming.
Somehow I always catch you in fallen light;
You were standing in the shadows by the reeds.
You looked so loose and spare; so thin,
I held my voice so as not to give a shock.
What compelled you, my friend,
To come back here of all places?
Where nobody wants you?
Your face looked bad – as if it had been cut from stained glass,
Or perhaps just cut.
You stood on the dock watching night come loose –
Red spattered pants and shoes and all.
Then you walked the pier my father had built all the way to the edge –
Toes hooked overboard in black Doc Martin’s,
Arms all akimbo, and I thought you were beautiful.
You looked torn asunder, well beyond repair,
And still you kept your vigor
Well beyond the vertical of water.
I had to smile.
I think I loved you then.
But the water made squiggles like spiders creeping
And your eyes went blank as scrims,
So I watched you implode instead.
My hand was on your shoulder and then it was not.
You bent down till your knees kissed the boards,
Till your head could go no lower.
You placed your face just above the flat slats
And you hissed something harsh, a name, a number, a need.
Somebody broke out the shotgun
And your body slipped in, your limbs twisting a cypher.
But just before you were struck
When you turned and reached out for me –
I saw the whites of your eyes open wide
And your lips crack a rich, competent smile.
You waved goodbye from your small, avid perch
While your chest folded in from wild report.
The sun failed.
The dock turned a rich, lusty red.
And we shuttered our thoughts and crept home.
Magixx 