In this alley
the black sun burns
another hole in the fair skin
of the girl on the mattress.

She was such a peach
caught in the brown rot
on the dead blooms
of the pitted city.

her upside down body
on display like the glass belly
of the Black Widow Mama.

the language of loss,
the shuffle of the leaves,
Do Not Disturb
on the door for days.

He got her in
but there was no way out,
holding her in his arms
like heroin.

She was just a peach
and nobody had her back
when the itch
came back
for the scratch.


Poem by Ryan Anarchy
Photograph: “Chopped Peach” by Carlos Caetano