The shape by the side of the road
slowed me down, and the boot midst rocks and weeds
made me turn to look
at the green plaid suitcase,
open and empty, or, as the poet would say:
“battered and alone”
Like the woman
no one sees
on Exhibition Road
sprawled against the wall
beneath N A T I O N A L C O N F E R E N C E
painted there
Face turned from us,
missing plastic sandal nowhere
to be seen
Eyes in the looming half-built apartments
gauged my interest then and there
against the suitcase and boot
I want to carry off
to set onstage at the Conference Hall
like an open coffin
with the boot and a Mona Lisa print
displayed within. First spurned by lover,
then by family, and by all who pass
that woman out there
for you to see
her shame and defiance
has no home
