Brunch

Brunch

You photograph Cupid as he

sits on the curb. His garments

of velvet dyed violet are sewn

with golden thread. His bow

stands as tall as you. His lone

arrow quivered, he samples

a plate of linguini and sausage.

He's marked the curb with hobo

sign good meals here —ambrosia

and lady seems kind —Venus.

He says his name is Rodrigo,

says he was born in Terminal

E at Logan, says he'd like dessert

—almond liqueur stewed pears.