ABALONE SHELL

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.
Is there  no one
whole enough
to count these
casualties.

Tide pools sit 
like silent 
trapped galaxies.
Hermit crabs ,
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 cigarette  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?