They walk amongst us.
We thought them gone,
They tuck their feathers under their pea coats and leave for 9-5 jobs at dawn.
Sirens sing sweet but sad songs that sink sailors ships but sometimes beside you boys in bars imbibing brew do too.
There are sirens in Brooklyn, oh believe me, do.
They're weary of wrecking ships and have taken to wrecking lives.
I have seen them with my own eyes
and felt them brush their stubble against my thighs.
Sirens are birds like pigeons cooing softly on the window sill
and still they coo and woo for you
please do look through
not one, not two
but three
the number of the sirens be.
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