message in a bunch of bottles
water once washed
the rocks; then, at least, wet
them, but now this is
an ex-stream–what bubbles is
blown bag, what’s damned is
plastic, what slivers sun
aluminum, canned flotsam,
and what water bobs
is branded–
bottles bottles everywhere
nor any drop
to drink–
bottles bottles everywhere
oh how the flow
does shrink.
******************************************
draft poem for Kerry O’ Connor’s prompt on Real Toads, 55 words arising from an idea of the extreme. Pic is mine; all rights reserved.

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