Pilchards

leaf litter the sand

sea horse shapes that curl and pike.

There has been a storm

so bruised-eye shell fish

loll

their pink flesh protrusions

seeking salt.

Stranded sea grasses perform a benign ark.

Bundled birds

clump.

One's tight brown eye interprets help                  as torture.

We put it out

                     of its misery

and into ours.

Emptied of philosophical observation, we continue

past a tractor tyre - ridged like a tart

a bucket - blue as a toilet flush.

We turn back

                          watch

             the tide

recede

leaving a silvery track

as if a monstrous snail has passed.