I tell the man sitting next to meat the bar I am done with menand this is the worst line ever—a hook with no bait.He polishes a coin with a cocktailnapkin and I forge on, cataloguingevery male thing I don’t want andI don’t even know who I’m talking to—this man or myself. I don’t knowif this is a dare or a promisenot to trade my clothes and autonomyfor a bubble of romance and the residueit leaves when it bursts. Either way,any benefits go unrealized. Either way,the nascent conversation fizzlesunder my wet match of a tongue.He pays for his beer and leavesthe shiny nickel and crumpled napkinon the bar and I know which oneI am. On my walk home, I see himthrough the window of another bar,leaning towards a laughing womanand she is younger and prettier than meor else she is older and wearingunfortunate lipstick. Either way, sheis not me, and I am older and lessattractive than I was a drink agoand I am a siren singing a dirge.I am a siren singing watch outfor the rocks. I am a sirennot singing at all, just watchingthe last ship disappear over the horizon. ____Suzanne Langlois lives in Portland, Maine, where she teaches high school English. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in NAILED Magazine, Cider Press Review, Sugared Water, The Fourth River, Menacing Hedge, and Rattle. Her work has also been featured on the Button Poetry Channel.