The Turning Of The Tide

 

… and the ocean’s spoke

in a voice of wrath and anger

that sounded like dark pebbles

rolling towards the shore

in a blood red tide,

‘You have given us your detritus

and so we return yours’.

And their tone

was accusatory,

and their vengeance swift…

 

It started on a sunny day

with naked bodies basking

in warm August sun.

 

No one noticed the rolling bank

of sea mist gathering on the horizon,

but as the warmth leached from the sand

they started to gather together belongings

to make a hasty exit.

 

Too late

 

for the bloated, bladdered seaweed

that washed up with the spume ridden waves

grasped against baked bodies

and clung on,

 

crabs scuttled over legs and arms -

nipping, clicking, clacking, ripping,

drawing blood

 

and then they came

 

the crew of U-123,

scurvy pirate hordes,

murder victims, mutilated,

shark attacks and worse,

the crews of the Mary Celeste

and the Mary Rose,

Buccaneers and Admirals

and all their prisoners and crews.

 

Clambering to free themselves

from years of brine and decay,

hungry for the taste of flesh -

to gorge on something warm,

to drink a rich brew of blood,

To satiate their thirst

from centuries of salt water

and meagre rations.

 

None were spared

as the decayed

devoured the living,

freshly braised

in sun tan lotion -

slow to recognise

the coming threat.

 

 

…and, when the grey mist cleared,

the beaches were deserted

of human habitation

but were littered with

empty plastic bottles,

Cola cans, baby wipes,

nappies, straws,

supermarket bags

 

and driftwood,

floating driftwood,

ancient driftwood,

blood soaked driftwood.

 

…and the tranquil sea

shimmered in the evening light -

crystal clear to it’s depths.

 

Purged…