Stones weathered translucent,
a pupal case carried from rock-pools,
not a bottle of beer, a billionaire
chucking champagne flutes from
his super-yacht, a hundred years of
perfume bottles from seventy years
of airline catastrophes.
It’s simply glass that's been rounded
by excess and death, worse, indifference.
When kids find sea glass their
smiles break wide to treasure,
some enamoured with the smoothness,
others running their finger along
the edge and sighing:
it doesn't even have the good bit.
Ewen Glass (he/him) is a screenwriter and poet from Northern Ireland who lives with two dogs, a tortoise and a body of self-doubt; his poetry has appeared in the likes of Okay Donkey, Maudlin House, HAD, Poetry Scotland and One Art Poetry. BSKY INSTA
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