Life Jacket, by Hazel Hammond

I am not a silent poet

The armholes are crusty salt damaged
the once plump body casing
sags, shows how it lifted
against the waves
and it smells 

when I go to the shore
resting on the pebbles of my home
I find them, not one but many
imported from far away
no price tags 

I see the movement, orange flashes
out to sea washed to the beach
weighted with a load
a cargo no one wants to accept
dead or alive

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