Across from the Colisseum
a woman sits on a ledge
she is too large to tell.
Hand on knee, smoke in hand
she puffs, horks, spits, repeats.
The ugliest child I have ever seen
brushes past, grinning fuzzy teeth.
"Were you just on camera, you little Jackass?"
The wind lifts his laugh away.
At the corner of two one-way streets
a woman, maybe ninety
prim and done up
aside from a smudge or two
on her pink sweatpants
crouches behind a trash can
to shelter her cigarette.
A sudden gust and a quiet shout
she has tumbled over backwards.