seashell
nothing’s new in the world
striped tigers in arenas
& armed men in jungles
thousands dying by day
inside cramped quarters
or in ever greater expanses
escapes are different today
not like whipping ‘round
the dark side of the moon
so many eyes set on the west
vast migrations looking up
at passenger starships
you’ve been uprooted
recruited & participating in
some master grander scheme
born as nothing but a bit player
soaking in the sun
& walking the beach
(waiting for the call)
march two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
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