Polluted Rainbow

The truck left a stain

near the mouth of the sewer.

A slick, oily eye

staring up through the grit.

I bent down to double-knot the lace,

my thumb touching the wet curb,

and there it was—

a spill of peacock and bruise

clinging to a crushed cup.

It moved like something alive,

shimmering over the dregs,

trying to make the runoff

look like a miracle

before the drain took it all.