On the Pier

Across the sea
Of a thousand swords
Forged in the sun
Long tailed kisses,
Uniform, abstract,
Silent and stabbing,
Avalon ascends
For a moment.
Refracting in lamentation.
A myth once glimpsed,
Sucked in to a sanctuary
Of destruction.

Sinking back into
Victorian benches,
The wood calms,
And I look back
Towards the town,
Of nineteen twenties
Charm
And nineteen fifties
Restraint.
And the old soldier
Watches
From his wheelchair
As the cinema empties
Of oblivious youth.