Diane Laurie

The pier was

A place to play
To spend the day
To hold hands
To jump off.
It was a place
Where life
Stuck out it penis
In the mother sea
Groping in eternity.
It was a place
Where life

Knitted time
Into Jersey sweaters
To be worn
On winter days
When knees are weak
And hair is gray.
The day it burned
Homeless bums
Looked for land

Huddled by cans
Searching for anything warm
They had lost
Their Jersey sweaters
To be worn
On winter days
When knees are weak
And hair is gray.