The Mermaid to J. Alfred Prufrock

watching a man, walking
desolate, upon the shore
the mermaid watched hair blowing in wind
sand scuffed below feet,
pitied the man all white and red
some soft land-fruit in hand
who looked to the sea

blue-green and flowing, she opened arms,
cried, “To me, Love!”
swimming closer than she’d dared

“To me, Love!” echoes on sands and wave-soft pebbles
single peach falls to the ground
as he steps to water

“I cannot come,” he called, “I am not made
for darting through waves, nor for water-breathing,
not some sea-creature, for being under silent seas.”

laughing, mermaid came closer
“Tides and tempests are toys and heart-strings. Swim in,
feel pressure and depth, unless you have another mermaid?”

heard through her singing, she feels him
“When will I find another mermaid?”

riding seaward, long fingers entwined in white hair
borne back, arms curled around cool scales

dreaming ragged claws and pale floating hair,
he stumbles on land, now, and cares no more for peaches