Meg Pokrass

New York at Twenty-Six

He looked like a movie actor playing

the tough guy.

He could unloosen a fly

in a hotel lobby

without anyone seeing.

It takes practice he whispered

to me, on his lap,

one finger shooting in.

Then he told me

how easy it was to get an agent

once you knew someone.

I can introduce you to Peter,

he said. You still

have a few years left.

People scuttled by

like Pigeons,

not looking at anything.

They were probably nervous,

late for work.

It didn't feel so good.

Besides, I was out of clean

socks and shirts

and money,

which made the world hopeless,

unsavory.

I pretended to listen.

His finger had become

warm, like my own skin.

Besides, I was starring

in a movie about nothing.

Meg Pokrass lives in San Francisco. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Emry's Foundation Journal, Black Buzzard Review, Flutter Magazine, The Orange Room, Halfway Down the Stairs, 971 Menu, Toasted Cheese, The Rose & Thorn, Thieves Jargon, and Eclectica. She has performed with theatre companies throughout the United States and considers writing a natural extension of sensory work developed as an actor.