Franklin Street Pier
I was here, at the Franklin Street Pier,
when they tore that mother down.
Looked up and down the boardwalk,
and all I saw was frown.
Great granddad was here, Franklin Street Pier,
that very good year,
when they built the pier,
from the finest old-growth oak.
There was no peer, Franklin Street Pier,
"She'll last forever." They hawked.
"Have no fear... at least 500 year,
of that we have no doubt."
I thought with a tear, Franklin Street Pier,
of the day's dad and I fished in good cheer,
and I caught the shark of the year,
and won a great prize.
Of summers here, Franklin Street Pier,
where we swam in water so clear,
with no riptides to fear,
in the surf and the sun.
Build sand castles here, Franklin Street Pier,
and gathered seashells for fun.
Bonfires we built to sear hotdogs,
and gather around when the day was done.
In my teenage year, Franklin Street Pier,
lost my virginity after some beer,
under the pier, shielded from the sun,
but not from the fun.
The ocean grew near, Franklin Street Pier,
and ripped at your structure year-by-year.
Until I hear, talk, oh so painfully clear,
that you cannot be repaired like before.
I cried for you dear, Franklin Street Pier,
but you're no longer here,
while the sea and surf have no peer,
and the boardwalk is doomed to be next.
The handwriting is clear,
the ocean's rise is eminently near,
And the Franklin Street Pier,
will be followed by all of the rest.
I don't know if Franklin Street Pier ever
existed. The idea for this poem just
popped into my head.
Copyright 2013 © Ronald W. Hull