Sticks

So much modern poetry is just word contortion and pretentious prattle. I thought I would give it a go.

Sticks settled

between toes,

forced deep in wet

sand,

ocean washed

with cuts like shells,

broken on the

beach - marooned, on

pebbles, smooth, bright,

as if lost - forgotten -

seaweed drowned, dappled,

fallen salted fronds - a dead

fish, yawning mouth, small

teeth, rotted flesh, embraced

death - pitted against the

detritus, plastic bottles, sliding

on the crusts of wave - mocking

towels strewn in disarray-

lost by fading swimmers, long

since gone away.