Poem Noir

I can *see* this poem living on an old projector reel. Well done.


I can see her in the lamplight,

Red hair and kitten heels,

A cigarette smokes in her hand,

I know just how it feels.

I’d love to go and say hello,

And ask her for a drink,

But I’ve watched this dame for days and nights

And she’s hovering on the brink.

I was hired by her husband,

Who’s a low-down dirty rat,

But he’s got the folding green stuff,

And I’d like a bit of that.

To keep me in neat bourbon,

To help me pay the rent,

‘Cause I have to dodge the landlord,

And believe me, he’s no gent.

There’s a scar across his knuckles

From the last time that we met,

If he sees my empty hands again

I know just what I’ll get.

So I’m following this beauty,

‘Til I catch her with a guy,

And I get a coupla photos,

‘Cause a photo doesn’t…

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