Kerrera

56°24.982‘ N, 5°30.738‘ W, 19.05.2019

Name me the weed
On the shores of Kerrera,
The wracks:
Bladder, spiral, channel
And more.
And the spongy stuff
Consistency of cooked spinach
But fluorescent green
Or occasionally
Beach-bleached white,
As yet unnamed.
But I will get there.
And among the weed, dark and rich,
Among rocks strangely striated
And unfamiliar,
Along the strip of the high-tide mark
And the grass above it:
Plastic.
Tufts of the stuff grow from the earth
Blue strands of disintegrating rope
Buried deep as if
It belongs here,
Netting, packaging, fragments.
All eternal.
As it breaks down
Into ever-smaller
Ingestible parts.
This is a clean one
Janie says, heartened.
But we, new to the game,
Continue our foraging
Disbelief
Mixed with despair.