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West Pier, Brighton - by David Bowe
Washed through, cleaned out, but the water couldn’t stop
The flames that took you; left you bare
And skinless. Intricacies reduced, revealed,
The skeleton like haematite, returned to element by elements,
Sea-proof, but susceptible and now surrendered;
A stark reminder, memento mori
For the brash, buoyant backdrop of amusements.
The amused watch waves and an eyesore,
Or water and possibility, backlit, detailed
By sun over water tops and under iron
Filling the dead space with something warm,
This place post-mortem, but still perhaps to be reborn.
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