Fresh Water Mermaid

“Catching anything?”
I asked.

I was drifting downriver
In an old school
Black rubber
Innertube.

As I approached him slowly
I could see he had a beach chair
Submerged
In about two feet of water
Several yards from the stoney shore.

He sat in it
Water up to his thighs.

A leaf and a bird’s feather
Rounded him with the current
Before I did.

He had a fishing pole
In his hand
And an exploded cigar
Jammed in his mouth.

His tackle lay on shore.

The line was out and loose.

His face was scrunched up
From looking into the late afternoon sun
High up
Making it’s descent
Over the tree line
On the west side of the river.

I might’ve been just a moving shadow to him
Then
Amidst the bright light reflecting
Off of the moving water.

Small birds flew
Low upon the shimmering surface
Swooping down
Gracefully
To catch
Imperceptable bugs
For dinner.

His response was slow.

Slow enough
That I could take
ALL of that in.

“Whadjoo say?”

Cigar moving
Between his lips
Ash falling.

He was a HARD
Middle age man.

50 looks like 60 or 65.

“I said”
And I repeated
“Did you catch anything?
Besides sunrays and a few winks.”

He smiled
His cigar smile.

I was closer now.

“I caught me a mermaid, but I let her go.”

“A mermaid?”
I asked suspiciously.

“I thought they were salt water.”

“Nope. I caught me a fresh water mermaid.”

“They’re a tad bit smaller, but still put up a fight.”

“She had a nice ass too. An apple bottom...but I let her go.”

He took a swig of his canned beer.

I smiled at him.

He was at peace with the river.
No agenda.

I was now drifting downriver
Away from him.

“Why did you let her go?’
I asked.

He laughed.

Hacking.

“She was a fight coming in. Can you imagine the fight if I kept her?”

“Heh, heh...”

“Heh, heh, heh....”

“Heh, heh, hah, hah, hah...”

‘”Cough”

“Heh, heh, heh...cough...”

Then coughing.

I watched his cigar
Jump out of his mouth
Falling into the water
By mistake...
A miscalculation.

Whereas...

A real fisherman
Would not let that happen.

I watched his grey shadow sitting there
In a beach chair
Cursing
About it being his last cigar
As I drifted away
By late afternoon currents

Hoping to see him
Reel in his next catch
Sometime
Soon
Before he was smaller and gone

Not to be seen again
As my tube
Rounded a bend in the river
And I turned my attention
Back to the birds.