A dull day, some would say
I like dull days, the colours muted
The sky soft, the sea grey. At the horizon
They merge, indistinguishable
So a rowing boat seems flying.
The sand is honey-toned, a blue shell,
Crunches under foot. The spring tides
Have been high, I can tell
Because above the shoreline is new litter
Plastic that the sea spews up, retches up.
She cannot eat plastic, cannot digest.
Vomits, and is fed again.
Here in the litter are strange colours
Vivid against the natural world
A child’s hair bobble glows
Like a psychedelic cherry
A baby’s dummy, the shiny ring, big enough
For a fat finger to fling it from the pram.
An upturned sandbox, blue and yellow
A sprayshooter water gun, sprayshot
This tidal wave of plastic, so much of it the remnants
Of homage paid to children. Do they need it?
My mother had just three amusements like these
A china doll, a wooden hoop, a dog.
How much better to care for the sea
As if it were our child, to teach our children how.