Truants, Hunstanton 1978

After it had fallen – collapsed the papers said –
into the high tide’s high rollers, it must have flipped

90 degrees, for we found it next morning on its side
in the sand, like a shot horse,

legs rigid as struts, its huge animal torso
a calamity of calm and no one but us to notice

the undersides where a Victorian had curled
a filigree of iron around each girder,

high up on what would be
the pier’s thigh or the horse’s femur,

like a garter, like suspense itself –



Lois Williams