She was at the shoot,
14, maybe 15, already 5' 9".
Groomed in the un-groomed way,
Eyes like a zombie, hair like a punk.
All set to be the next big thing.
10 rolls of film later, she retired
To a glass of pink champagne;
An Italian model, courting disaster,
Offered her his cigarillo.
He was in his 20s.
As she sent a plume of blue-grey smoke aloft,
I watched; I was a little saddened,
By her smoke rings, her empty eyes,
The fact that, trappings of fame aside, she was only
A young flower, already wilting.