Around Killingsworth and Albina

Behind a dumpster in an alley lies an old copy
of Life magazine. It's opened
to a black and white photo. Some feet away
is a bottle; it takes in the little sunlight
that ever shines here, reflects it
onto the photo, illuminates
that actress with the soft pale cheeks
whose name won't be remembered—the one
from that late night movie who thought
she had found love in front oh that marble
fountain in Rome, where she tossed coins
so brazenly, thought she might die
when the love drained, like the water,
so the coins could be collected.

If you were the sort who cried
you might start now. What you are doing here
is none of our business. Our business
involves the smell
of rotting hamburger, the rats that will trample
her face after sunset, the air so tightly
clenched in your fist and naturally
the theory of found beauty.

Copyright © 2009 Sid Miller All rights reserved
from Nixon on the Piano
David Robert Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission