That Siren

Let's workshop this bitch!

That Siren

A horse, polished-hooved and reeking 
of piss from the sidewalk-slumped man
of beer, clops off from parked at the curb.  

Nuzzled into this city-block corner,
the man raises his tin for nothing—
up to sordid figures of neon, up to 
eyes glistening above adamant feet.

He has to piss bad again from thinking
that easy thought, that old empowering
I’m just gathering up fuel here—that siren 
making here such a lasting home.

*This poem was originally published in Coldnoon (2018)