Beached, washed up flotsam or jetsam on the breakers’ edge. Dugong with lovely legs and dark unknown regions. Smelly? Slimy? Smooth or silky? Can't say.
Enigma, I want to marvel at you.
Dorsal punk! Hybrid freak! I loathe you because you tease me out of mind. Out of body more likely. And aren't those knees, on inspection, quite the knobbly sort?
My head is smothered in your fish body and my belly bloated with the small fish you eat. My legs and feet lack the finny something you ought to have and I am no more than a mermaid in reverse.
Brave sturgeon from the northern seas? White bait amplified. Can I dive with you or lie here sunning myself in the surf? Oxymoron! How dare you confuse me landlubber, deep-sea diver.
I give up. I can't breathe. I never did enjoy a compromise or composite things. A purist at heart I request you to go back to the deep, trail those lovely legs tail-like behind you and leave me uncomfortable here on the shore.
Or, Frog-prince, nay, fish-prince remove that finny helmet and morph into something I can understand.
FIGURE 1 René Magritte, “Collective Invention,” 1934, oil on canvas (color figure available online).
Article Citation [Who Cited This?]
Rayment, C. (2013). Maid-mer by the Sea. Psychoanal. Persp., 10(2):394-395