With the Flow

I saw two men:

one with a fishing pole;

one with a bag of clams,

talking politics down by the pier;

arguing,

or maybe agreeing.

Who knows?

 

I think I heard them saying

something about the end of the world.

About money or something like that.

How it was all going to end

unless we did things right.

Whatever that was.

 

I couldn’t hear them though.

I was too busy watching

a single gull perched on the pier’s edge,

not stomping or stammering,

just staring

into the marshland’s ebb and flow.

Perhaps wondering when will the ebb outweigh the flow?

Or vice versa as nature goes?

 

I once heard a scientist once say

that the world will end in one billion years

when the sun grows too hot,

and the soft seas boil up to heaven,

and only desert is left

with our bones buried in dust.

 

Means about as much to me now as the doom donned by men – 

as political talk down by the pier.

 

Means nothing at all to the gull, I’m sure,

who stands so calmly searching for his midday meal,

with the men talking about politics in the background

beneath the sounds of ebb and flow.

 

It’s a lovely day now though –

whichever doom I decide to ignore

in light of this lovely day down by the pier.

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