Out here, bobbing around
the doll which has fallen
off the ship; she cannot see
where she goes. Her eyes
stare up, seared
by a pitiless sun.
A swell comes, peaks
and troughs, peaks and -
Her plastic skin
is covered in life, creatures that rely on her
but cannot share their vitality.
Nobody loves this doll.
And then, the continental shelf.
Swells become waves, and before long
our doll
stops being ocean pollution
and becomes beach litter.
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