Hitchhikers

It only looks dead,
this rough piece of driftwood
tossed on the shoreline by storm and sea.

Sit for a while and watch.
You will see them,
tiny creatures, burrowers
thriving on the hidden rot,

hitchhikers,
murderers without malice,
unseen except
for those who stay.

About this poem

About driftwood. About the hidden baggage we carry. A paen to those who love us anyway.