Plastic

intricate pattern seen from air
ever moving like striking tentacle
a dozen or more billion tendrils
and then there's just me
and you
and that guy over there
and his mother bound to wheelchair
pockets of humanity
do the decent thing
the rest just fight and row
as decadent colours
bloom forth from deckchair beaches
the water laps at our feet
and brings a calm
usually reserved for eternal sleep
the temptation to reach out
the temptation to internalise
living in a bubble seems like fun
no one gets in and no one gets through
what a heaven that could be
just facing the sun through plastic haze
alone
just
you
and
me
forever