I see a rat running back
and forth across the concrete
in front of the Coke machine.
Each door is sealed
with an oversized padlock.
I’m looking for Room 127.
He lets me in,
sits on the bed
and takes off his shirt.
His face is angelic.
Crooked dots cover
the left side of his chest.
“What happened here?”
“Stab marks… like from a knife.”
“They tried to get you
in the heart.”
He smiles
and leans back
on the bed.
I hear a woman singing
in the shower.
He whispers
she’s just a friend.
The falling water blends
into music from a radio
and her soft Spanish.