Chasing it’s Tail

Waves roll in from the island,

Rocking our gentle boat.

It strains at the rope

As channels appear,

Fast track for shells and debris.

I turn over bottle fragements,

Sea smoothed after violent firing.

Nature grips discarded plastic,

Sprouts parasitic charms

Over the hull of the boat.

When a winkle looks my way,

I wonder which way

I would like to face.

Pointing upwards seems a tiring journey

And hard to maintain.

If life is a creature

With young legs at the front

And old legs at the back,

is it happy to chase

it’s tail in circles?