TO FILL THE ROOM

Written by: RUDOLPH RINALDI

I am moving along the beaten walls
In the long narrow tired hall way
To the lonely door 
At its end
The way is dark, dried out and dinghy
Like the portal in an old prostitute

I slide my hand along its edge
And open it 
She lets me in
The room is bare
With the stench of musty sheets 
And dead flowers

I leave 
Leaving dirty tattered dollar bills 
And shriveled roses
To fill the room
Where all was 
Once young and bright