And So It Washed Up...
And so It washed up, on the yellow, sand
Ridden beach. Strands of seaweed stuck to Its
Face, a mutilated face, beyond any
Recognition. It lay on its back, as
If sunbathing on the sunny seafront
Of Brighton. But It lay there, Its face a
Torment full of hatred and horror, now
Oblivious to Its ordeal. A unique
Trident scarred Its arm with a cacophony
Of colours that dazzled in the morning
Sun. A wailing siren echoed off the
Seawall whilst a widow wept without pause.
But that mark, that heavenly mark on Its
Right arm was her point of intrigue, the last
Bit of It that remained. She was transfixed
By it. So as the white pathologist’s
tent went up Its hand was dashed with more drops
of water, the tears landing in perfect
Harmony but hopeless hope.
by Jack Colley