Jellyfish Gifts

Today, a jellyfish rides my throat,

a treasured trinket

from someplace I’ve never been,

except in spirit, where I am

in the tank, wafting

through water, waving my

tendrils and locks, wishing

they were longer, like

in high school, when I could

sting with it in a targeted

toss of my head, swinging

a curtain of platinum

in unsuspecting faces,

unapologetic, unflinching,

unpausing in my trek

through hallways peopled

with predators, pretenders,

and prey. I reject a plosive identity,

tentacles flowing from my head,

suggesting illicit relations

with Poseidon, deep love

hiding in waves, mocking

silly sirens and their

simpering songs, seducing sailors

into relationships with

cold fish, legs spread

or wet always opposed,

mutually exclusive.

Make out with mermaids

until you grow fins; you’ll never

wedge yourself in. Maybe an agile

tongue and the sensuality

I bring

is every bit

worth my sting.