A Siren is what she is, a witch who flinches

eyelids open, lures me, lingers long kisses,

whispers, hisses. Nothing but a hussy who struts

her smut, bounces the butternut in me,

gut punches, runs me ragged, challenges me

to chess, moves vertically, horizontally,

diagonally—such a rook I mistook for a pawn,

nabs my king and queen, has her way with my bishop.

What a piss-up. She wrings out the sleep in me, 

leaves me to flop on the floor like a wet rag.

Strap me, Odysseus-fashion, to the mast of my bed.

Plug my ears. Don’t let me hear her fur-footed

wolf voice say come howl with me.