Neon

Belleville

She got off the Metro there and so did I:
looking both ways for traffic, she crossed
by the church; I didn’t catch her eye.
She hesitated by the tabac, looking lost,
and I picked up Le Monde from an Arab
for the copper in my pocket. She strode
on, mind made up, past a former strip club
where the street turned Chinese and the neon glowed:
electric graffiti. Took a left - running now
to catch up, I knew our destination.
I asked her by the tombstones, how?
Why? What’s the explanation?
After so many sweeter, brighter days,
it’s dark goodbye, in La Cimitière du Père Lechaise.

Aristocrat Trailer Park

lookit your new home double wide
latest design aloo-mi-num
100 dollars down ma am
easy payments jus twenty years
and a lifetime of comfort
in your very own park home
sure the phone company ll get ya a line
and the propane truck comes every eight
days ceptin holidays tho and durin floods
sign here ma friend ya won t regret it
interest rate why bout the best ain t
i just a stand up guy take mah card
yore guarantee hey aint that me
sure as my names john dupree

Marlowe’s Dream

The bartender’s name was Jean.
I slipped him a cool fin and
got one in return: a mickey, that is.

Salvador had something gooey in his glass;
looked like his tumbler had melted,
it dripped from his chin, a cocktail, maybe.

Gripping his martini, Luis had
a razor in his other hand,
that olive was a real eyeball, for sure.

‘Hey René, ya wanna ‘nother Screwdriver?’
Taking off his bowler hat, succinct
he hissed ‘but this is not a drink, my friend.’

I woke up in the dumpster,
looking up at the purple neon;
the sign on the wall blinking ‘Bar Cocteau’.