A whale-tail sculpture close to the port side
commemorates one that was stranded there.
Sometimes the winter brings reports of deaths:
a whale, a shark, a porpoise on a beach.
Just once, I saw a pod of dolphins pass.
These days they have post-mortems to decide,
cut open carcasses retrieved from shores.
No prophets in the bellies of these whales,
but something else that spells our future doom,
entrails stuffed hard with plastic from the waves.
The plankton cocktail´s laced with deadly bits
that gradually entangle to a mass
and choke the creature´s life from inside out.
Illustration: Atlanta Wiggs