“Washed Ashore…”

So much of man’s junk,

Ends up in our oceans,

Then during storms,

Ends up on our beaches,

That it may be a business,

Just to find & exploit it.

When I was young, and living at the shore,

So many things washed ashore,

I recall cans of survival water,

All kinds of fishing gear,

Life jackets with boat names,

Gotta wonder what happened,

To the boat all the same.

Toys of children, little army men,
Pails and shovels left over from summer then,
All kinds of plastic stuff,
Oh the poor fish that did eat this junk,

They could be injured by it and that is not bunk.

Flip-flop shoes,

Papers that carried the news,

Sections of ships from long ago,

Docks that float, now how did they get out there?

Nothing of value, or not that I know,

But to a small boy with his dog in tow,

All sorts of visions of war ships,

And stories of long dead sailors,

Submarines of the last world war,

So many movies seen of lost ships,

Could they all be sunk or still sailing,

Amidst the junk that washed ashore on this “my” beach…

                                                          (ed)