A Seaside Town in Winter
Alan Ford

The town has two profiles
the living and the dying.
Life here is controlled
by the changing seasons.
The fair is a pleasure palace
of boarded up illusions,
of metal ducks no longer moving.
An empty ghost train for lovers
recalls shrieks in the darkness.
The paint of the posters
peels on the promenade
which is deserted by better times.
Yet a discarded bottle with no
message in it is washed ashore
giving a false promise of empty days.
The lone figure of a B & B owner
stops under a street lamp to
light his pipe, tamping down the
vacancies of missing guests.
Splashed feet in alien streets feels
the raindrops drip its tears in the fading light.
A clammy fog drifts across the sea front
as time is washed away.
Windscreen wipers obscure the view
as trams clatter through
old memories of summer,
waiting for the sun.
At the end of pier theatre
the spotlight has gone out
as the limelight has moved on.
Yet new, old time posters
promise people will fill the empty seats
as rehearsals begin for the spring.