How dare you stand there on the shore with your feet in the water
and tell the mermaid she doesn’t understand its pull.
How dare you shed a single tear
over a toe in the same water
she learned to breathe in.
Months went by as she thrashed beneath the surface,
and you never so much as held out a hand.
Never pulled her water soaked body out from under the waves,
or dove below yourself in a fit of raging valiance.
No, you threw her overboard
and then stood and watched.
So how dare you stand ankle deep in this ocean
and tell her your feet are cold.
How dare you speak to her like she doesn’t understand,
like you’re some tragic martyr for getting wet sand on your flip flops.
She grew gills.
She grew gills,
and you haven’t even gotten your knees wet.