Matthew Brennan

"There is no object so foul that intense light will not make beautiful." —  Emerson, Nature The renters bring out their greasy table, End of the month again: It sags, Weighted and warped like them, unable To hold much more than glasses and rags. Old clothes and rusty tools compete For space with magazines they stole From garbage bins behind our street; Each shoe reveals a run-down sole. A few come by, inspect, and leave, Almost always with empty hands. But when, at sundown, all things cleave To slanted light, and when it lands So rubber, glass, and metal glint— And for a moment make you squint— You'll see our neighbors bathed in gold As if their worth cannot be sold.