Graffiti covered stones litter the once pristine shoreline like crude markers over forgotten graves.
Shattered and shucked Abalone lay about like enemy bodies across a losing battle field. And I seeย no one whole enough to count these casualties.
Tide pools sit like silent trapped galaxies. Hermit ***** , some dead, some alive enough to know these discarded bottle caps are not meant to be a home.
Abalone shell, a poor mans hell where one flicks his cigaretteย ย butts into empty Abalone shells.
The Sea Otter can't be all there is to blame.
Tell me old Salt Dog, where has all the Abalone gone?