"all mermaids go to heaven,"
the girl on the lawn says to me,

with her parsley smile,
and her cracked pepper look,

"you aren't nautical, are you?"
she asks, an anchor in her eye,

"me? no. I'm more the garden-type,"

she stands in her lawn chair,
and she does a mermaid twirl,

"you should think about that,"
she says,
"soon, the sea will be all that's left"