At the Bar

I felt the slight pressure on my shoulder

The kind that promises the ride of your life, Before you read the fine print, Including all the nasty bits of legalese, About how sharp the hook is bated, With something of scent and texture no man can resist, Pricking you with unextractable tear and blood-let, Pirouette of spiraling life to death, Selecting you as if you were the slickest fish in the sea, To find only you were one of the easiest to spot, At the top of the teeming barrel of common tilapia

So I brushed her hand away, Before any of that damage could be done

She said something close to my ear in a warm tone, But I shut out her siren song and hummed myself to me alone