Pier

Angel's Flight, Vol. 7.2 (1982)

Bridget O'Mara

The old carrousel
Looks forlorn
In the early morning gray-lavender light.
Fisherman cast lines out
And wait.
Ancient men in torn sweaters
Look out with sun and age-faded eyes over the ocean
That perhaps once belonged to them.
The morning peace is over
Men with gull-like voices
Shout at each other
As they carry tubs
To the seafood restaurants.
Two young boys in leather jackets
Carry a gigantic radio
The spell is broken.

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