and drift through the EAC alongside Crush.

Down here, 

I am unbothered by fuel prices and 

the housing crisis. 

I think this to myself as my gills open and close, 

as the bubbles keep flowing, 

and my fins keep swimming. 

That is, until the boats start showing up more. 

Metal hooks linger as express tickets to the reaper, 

and they multiply by the week. 

Teresa’s aunty goes missing, 

Uncle Jimmy’s red coral bleaches to a dull beige, 

and a smoke-screen of oil sends the schools

coughing, crying, sleeping.

They want us to try and swim away from our worries, 

into their jaws as they bite down with their 

3 rows of regrowing teeth. 

Ignorance, avoidance, justifies their actions. 

You knocked one of their teeth out?

Here come 3 more. 

Return to the shore, 

knock on their doors, 

show em’ what you think, 

purge their doublethink. 

If Marlin could find Nemo, 

who says that we can’t find each other?