Mermaids

The Hut lies beyond the auld groin. The rotting sea timbers: barnacled planks, shrivelled posts, cut a shadowy black swathe through the estuarial slime. It is dusk. The man-sucking, gooey, grey fermenting morass of ragworm-infested mud flats stretches as far as the eye can see.

They are lying, beyond the groin: as seen at low tide.

I see them, squatting on its carbon strip of rock.

Photo: stranded mermaid.