I had left my recycled bag
of bastard poems at Beyond Baroque
where in last night.
I took a cab back to Venice,
but the theater was closed.
I walked around to the back,
trying to find someone on the morning shift,
but all I found were garbage cans.
On top of one of the heaps was a plastic bag,
dew wet and standing out.
Inside were my damp poems,
an unused condom,
and a half-filled Diet Dr. Pepper.