The ocean came ashore and walked into
a twenty-four hour convenience store,
pocketed a set of double-A batteries
and a pack of watermelon bubblegum.

A boy, sitting on the parking blocks,
noticed the ocean exiting the store,
recognized it and thanked it for being
the cradle of evolution that, eventually, lead to him.

The ocean foamed a little in satisfaction
and changed its color to a brighter blue,
but couldn’t shake loose these three plastic containers
in its left thigh that some ship dumped off the coast

along with a host of other garbage items
that dissolve into toxic polycarbonates—that over time
drift on the currents to a spot in the pacific
north of Hawaii where the ocean grew up.

On its way back down to the shore
the ocean kicks sand in the faces of other sand pebbles,
writes a poem with its finger, becomes slimmer as
the sun reaches down to take the ocean’s spare tire,

and one stick of watermelon gum, heavenward
to form a cloud and to start assembling
the colors of a rainbow.

*note: title is a line from a Maureen Seaton Poem