As the sinking sun sets
the glass buildings
she steps out from the revolving door
in her Italian-or-French-label suit.
Her hair perfect midnight silk,
her make-up painted on by Da Vinci,
but no smile on her face,
her shoulders stooped, and the suit
not tailored for failure
gives her a hunchback look.
As she buries her face in long fingers
sitting by the fountain, he peels himself
out of his shaded corner
holding his beggar cup tight.
His smell announces him.
The disgust on her face
punches him into
But the anguish in her eyes reminds him...
He reaches into his cup, pulls out
the only 5 dollar bill and hands it to her.
He points across the marbled plaza
then shuffles off
before she can ask if he means
the tiny lollipop shop
with its huge yellow, red and green
wheels in the window
or, next door,
the liquor store.