Beach Burial Poem by M.L. Emmett

Someone had intended
to mend
this beach-stranded boat

Hauled high on the shingle
well above
the high tide

uselessly tethered
by moss-bearded ropes
to a wind worried tree.

Abandoned
except by rats
and the occasional scuttling crab

Honey-shined wood
bleached grey
dulled with dry rot.

Tongue and groove joints
still hold firm
the ribbed torso.

Made by a craftsman long dead
with skills lost
in a past world of wood.

Hard plastic, fibreglass hulls
stamped and pressed to shape
industrial strength lines in fast factories

cheap runabouts for townies
will never die this beach death of dignity
mourned by passing poets.