the biker mermaids are unconcerned
with their irreconcilable image
they feel no obligation
to divulge their talent
for negotiating their engines
without riding sidesaddle
they wouldn’t think
of dividing themselves
into anything as common as legs
they remain contentedly unavailable
to childbirth and bowel movements
inarguably, they have their mystique
no longer interested in unreliable sailors
or lonely beachcombers, regardless of their means
those freewheeling days
of breaching topless off the starboard bow
a reminiscence quaint as scrimshaw
and just as irretrievable
they have doffed their stifling ball gowns
and graciously returned their superfluous tiaras
last seen waving from the whistling docks
naked under their rumpled hair
gnashing slick, wriggling fish
snatched from the salty nets
they rumble out beyond the breakers
their laughter coarse as hungry gulls
they allow the moon
to sift their hair
with its cool, delicate fingers
and surface only to smoke
