West Pier

It may have been the 1970's

it may have been Brighton

but no one can confirm when my father saved a pier

I was railing high navigating the gaps in the planks with a slender fear

a cheap thrill as you walked above the sea

and below

under the bolted timber

waves hypnotised the iron work

the tang of salt over candyfloss was taken up like Friars Balm through your head

As we passed the rides Dad saw smoke

a daft smoulder rising up from the deck and we stopped

bent

to look for timbers

for them burning

but it was just a cigarette butt still curling

PC883

as he was at work

called out to an attendant and the fag was drowned with a red bucket marked 'FIRE'