Junkyard 2, Week 1

Roma, a woman slips on a banana peel in front of the museum up the steps from the Forum. Black slate tiles, flat, ancient teeth of Rome. A paper plane out of the soft, transparent paper from a bakery lies broken on the stone. A woman licks her teeth waiting for the bus. Red poppies sprawl for tourist cameras, replacing the white marble where conquerors returned home to the masses, drowning in white, throwing flowers. Nike’s constant flight is everywhere turned to stone, caught in victory, blind, no one tells her of the fall of Rome, how sneakers, tiny gelato shovels, and cigarette butts have crushed the marble to a thousand poppies.