THE FOSSIL HUNTERS
Where whales without choice
have offtimes beached
still the sea cuts a deeper chine.
Eager hunters battle against the clifftop wind,
descend the dangerous steps.
Charging along the sands
they turn over pebbles,
attack the rocks,
dig up and out
fossils hidden for hundreds of years.
Plastic bags break
under the weight of the booty.
Hauled back to parked cars,
these ancient reminders of the Flood
will be polished into ornaments,
kept as holiday keepsakes,
or dumped, forgotten again
in some suburban garden.
© GERALD ENGLAND
Composed: Gee Cross, 22nd August 1992
Publication
1993 The Peaople's Poetry (UK)
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