Emptying the mermaid’s purse
by Lee Nash

Love, something is stuck in my craw: your favorite dish.

Will you not withdraw your favorite dish?

 

Channels of blood run the deck; hot blades sever

the fins from the fish – it has a flaw, your favorite dish.

 

Butchered torpedoes pushed back overboard

like barrels of blanks; it’s gore, your favorite dish.

 

A tux, a tail, a predator; the apex of the tongue;

a cook, a waiter to pour your favorite dish.

 

I long to sink into bed with you, my well-fed bride,

though I am not any more your favorite dish.

 

Will you drift over long-lines dripping with hooks

like mercury drops? I will not chaw your favorite dish.

 

A camera rolls at sea. What beast is this?

What cold contamination? I balk before your favorite dish.

 

I will not sail over poisoned mareel. What bitter palace

is this? I wish they would ban, outlaw your favorite dish.

 

 

(First published in The Ghazal Page, Issue 59, 2016)

 

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