Sea Interlude, Blackpool 1987

by Ian Harker

Every pylon we pass is the Tower
and the Tower is a tram made of lightbulbs,

the sea is shipping containers and the seafront
is a slot machine sliding on 2ps. The pier

is the glass giraffe we bought for grandma,
the tide is going out between the floorboards,

all the dogs are made of shells
and I want everyone to be lit like this-

dots of light across our foreheads, on our wrists,
a seagull’s feather flies out of my hand

back into what it knows best, the feather and the beach
are the same shape and the feather and the beach

are the same colour and the voices
on the ghost train will not be drowned.