Plastic Bottle

A plastic bottle set sail perhaps by an accidental hand,
Or one stirred by mischief, a muse. Now it lands,
The tide playing yo-yo as it sun-polishes for its next owner -
An innocent hand perhaps, or one whose handler
Believes in the beauty of all things.

The beach deserves its home, and owes nothing to nobody,
Especially not anything to a plastic bottle: it does not belong
Where it provides no rent, no food, no love. Oh wait,
Or maybe it does, in the shape of the man who
Believes in the beauty of all things.

P.S.: Part of this was written last Sunday sitting down at a bench at Pasir Ris Park, as the tide engaged in its gentle caresses against the sand, while a chinese couple on the next bench entangled themselves in an invisible web of passion.