The Dead Whale

A large gash slashed open its side. A collision with a boat we all think. Though no boat has claimed its kill. The wind whipped its scent through the crowd a saltier tang than usual. More concentrated; more direct. Its chest heaved with the rhythm of the waves as water poured into its lax mouth expanding its chest in a mockery of breath before deflating again like a balloon spent. Bites from opportunistic feeders marred the solid gray-blue-white skin with a pinkish hue and gaping holes. Its blood lingered in the dark green waves a sandy-pink as it flowed with the current. And people still swam in its wake! Unperturbed by the dead still bleeding or the funeral procession watching on in a half-circle of grief and awe and humor too as the largest of lives we don't normally see lay dead on the beach.

Request permission to use this poem

Explore

Hello PoetryVoting

Write