In this steaming tap water
I am slithering mermaid
thinking of going out dancing tonight
thinking of meeting mr. right
Wearing silk
and laughing a tittering laugh
as mr. right
says something just right
about something important
to important people
in a big ballroom
that doesn't allow children within 20-
(No!) 50 miles of the place
Then in races mr. two-and-a-half
followed by mr. man-I-married
who is carrying mr. needs-to-be-fed
and at least one of them wants in the tub with me
and at least three of them want something from me
and at most none of them
see my fuchsia scales
as they fall already rotting
from my tail.
So the wine at the ball gets younger
turns into the boxed variety
and this mermaid, she only swims
in housework
and unpaid bills.
So mr right
and all of the importants
move to the tenements
and sell their dreamwares
to those who can still afford them.
And there,
wedged between
dirty diapers
peanut butter smears on my favorite suede boots
a phone that rarely rings in a friendly way
is that hidden hospital stay
and the drugs meant to bring
Mrs. What-the-Hell-Happened-to-Me
back.
this is how easy
it is
to forget how to swim.
Nikol Hasler lives in Waukesha, Wisconsin with her two sons and one supportive husband. A painter, writer, musician, and chef, she has found that the best way to stay sane is to drink a lot of earl grey tea and take a lot of artist breaks. She is currently looking for her keys.
