My Modeling Career

i have longish hair combed back, think don johnson in miami vice, 1994 and i’m living in santiago, chile, always walking the city streets, one afternoon he sees me strolling, hey guy, my name is max, please take my card, i think you can model, are you interested? i had heard about other americans who’d made thousands of dollars with their blue eyes and light skin color, sure, i say, good, good, go to this place tomorrow at 4pm, he scribbles the address on the back of his card, tell them max sent you, the next day i arrive, it’s a tv ad for a washing machine, i give max’s card to a woman, ok, she says, stand on the x, spin around and smile, i nod, i get the spinning part, but i can’t smile on demand, in my head i’m thinking, this is stupid, i do another spin, another failed smile, third time’s the charm, but no, thanks for coming, she says, i throw max’s card in the trash, adios modeling career.

Downtown Santiago, Chile

polka-dotted white shirt collar 
in the rain, little black bits of

sulphur dioxide and nitrogen 
oxide, liquid smog clears the

Andean air, never knew the
mountains were there before

storms of winter, when all
is pure again, I wait for the

micro (bus), slicked hair under
umbrella, leather jacket like 

a Russian made man to hustle
on these Spanish speaking streets

in transit to work for finance
power company, electricity and me

daydreaming of Neruda in dirty drips
of sky just asking, why? why?