I Am A Corpse At The Bottom Of The Sea

I am a corpse
at the bottom of the sea.
My limbs are weak and useless;
I can do nothing but stare
and take in this watery place
that has somehow become my grave.

I do not belong here.
Yet I am not alone.
Three others,
men I do not know,
wait here with me.
We chat politely to pass the time,
speculating how someone
should be coming soon.
Our families surely miss us.

Something awful brought us here.
But we do not speak of it –
instead we talk of home,
and how nice it will be
to be dry again.

At last they come,
important-looking men
who get right down to business.
They begin poking and prodding,
examining our lifeless bodies
until some lightbulb goes off
and they give the ‘okay’.

Slowly but surely
they go up before me,
back home so their families
can put them to rest.
I think of how the ground
will be so much better than water,
and how everyone will stop
worrying and wondering
where I am.

And then there was one.
A man sets his sights on me,
but the examination seems
far too short.
“There’s no point,” he tells me gently,
“in taking you to the surface.
You’re too far gone.
You’ll just… fall apart.”

No. Please take me.
Please.
My family,
they miss me,
I can’t stay here.
Please take me with you.

I don’t belong here.

They pack up their things
and leave me.
I watch as they become
little black glints above my head,
and then disappear into the light.

I am a corpse
alone
at the bottom of the sea.

And maybe I do belong here.