Fight Free from Sirens
by Shaun Terry
Polaris in her eyes,
a mouth full of sin,
encumberingly marble-esque architecture.
She was baptized in chicken grease and guitar strings,
and she can’t tell what time it is.
She’ll talk about church,
and she’ll talk about heaven,
but ask her what the future holds,
and she’ll spit at you for sinning.
She teaches how to sit,
and she’s read a thousand books,
but she can’t tell you how to read her thoughts.
She’s a small, scared dog,
cowering beneath a coffee table,
but ask her how she feels,
and she’ll bare her teeth and growl.
Her big-eyed, tear-filled smile will suck you in,
and her dance will keep you around,
but ask enough questions,
don’t keep her distracted,
and those teeth will push you off.