"Fare and Finned"
by Alexander Beedy
One night an old man lied by the river bank
Draughted by the flavor of worms wood.
As his eyes became yellow and black
His lids became of lead and his mouth misunderstood.
He spoke of a maiden of eminent vanity
Who had lived in the woods across from him,
Within the estuary to the sea
Im murky waters of little vim.
"She", he said "was crowned with earthly luminescent hair,
And a face accented by a velvet softness,
Which bore the lips and the nose of an exiled child,
An innocence so beguilingly wild.
She would surface the shore at the rise of the sun,
Bringing with her brilliant jewels
And trinkets of the young.
She would then comb her hair by a thousand strokes
And ponder all that she wondered
On a winding rope.
Her hands would pass each braid,
As a Catholic would a Rosary each day,
And she would tilt her head, not to the sea
But to the skies above.
This I believe is how she prayed for love."
I then asked of this old man in dessent.
"Why the drinking and the doleful grieving?"
And He said unto me "She had a fin!"
"A finn!?" I said as I raised my brows.
"Yes a fin." he replied "then but not now".
"And why not now?" I asked.
He then fell into a sobbing slander,
All of which I could not understand.
But very interested - I did demand.
"Tell me more of this creature."
"She was no more than twenty years,
Be it twenty years less than me.
Everyday - I did see her,
But I, she did not, I believe.
I would admire her everyday
For the shortest of five years.
How beautiful her fin, her face, and maine
How disturbing her woeful tears.
I hurt for her, I yearned for her,
I begged that nature could bring her to me and bind us in matrimony as it may.
I pleaded each and every day.
Always I stood afar
As so she could not see me.
Eternity - it seemed we were apart.
So far from a bleeding heart.
"None the less, just this morn',
I could not bite my tongue,
Nor clinch my fist anymore.
For I have longed for too long
And I have faltered to the floor.
Inertly I approached her,
With my head down, anxiety poised,
My left hand in my right, And by ten strides I drew my voice.
"My lady, I said to her,
And no more than a moment late,
She rose her brows and parted her lips,
Exhaled a sigh and dove out straight.
"Gone forever.
My weakness and greed
I know not.
Thus upon absinthe I feed."
"Why do you feel this way?
How do you know?
Will she not come tomorrow?"
"I know not, yet I do doubt,
For as she dove her fin became feet,
And she raced away in retreat."
"Oh, I wish I only could have held myself.
Might I have seen her five years more,
From afar - as always I could have dwelt.
So emotionally poor."
A moment later a crack of a twig
From around the tree which he lied.
A maiden emerged with his memory,
An all too familiar sigh.
Not a word to be spoken,
She fell by his side,
Placed her chin upon his breast
And they melted together,
In alleviating pride.
They clasped one another
As if to become one.
And I laughed in joy and disbelief,
But the goodness of happiness had won.
They arose together
And he looked at me,
With the greatest smile
In a drunken peace.
He then bowed his head
And took her hand tight.
"Thank you for the ear" he said,
And they walked into the night.
Copyright © 2009