by Alex Ranieri
You should’ve seen the back of her head laid flat
against the Civic Opera Building.
Such careless hair-- red thrown out over
the small of her back, it shocked
the gray staid monolith, straight shooting,
and the dull, grimed-up river
and the iron in the bridge.
It shocked me-- and I stopped to stare
(unpolitely). I stopped
the permanent clouds
and her face, which must
be beauty in a can.
and was a bag of old, sagging skin.