Monday, October 27, 2008

Click Clack Stilettos (a love poem)

burnished black boots
trail click clack stilettos
incendiary hair
set fire to the ghetto

“Slow, baby. Slow.
The cops don’t know.
Meet me at the farmhouse
on Redrock Road.”

“Kill, Tommy. Kill.
Drill Pretty Phil.
Take the .38
from the Coup De Ville.”

plump cherry lips
graze a sandpaper chin
dame floors the ride
he climbs on a Schwinn

tires spray the gravel
like a garden hose
Tommy’s legs churn
dirty knees up his nose

Pretty Phil chews spaghetti
under bare bulb light
Tommy plugs him twice
pedals back to the night

breathless at the barn
on Redrock Road
Tommy seeks the dame
while the Coup sits cold

a spark cuts the dark
like a sledge to the chest
fingers lace the gush
but the hole won’t mesh

“Why, baby? Why?”
“Tommy, please don’t cry.”
she pops another off
plants it plum in his eye

loot in the Coup
dead men, burned ghetto
dame slips the border
wearing click clack stilettos

Copyright 2008

1 comment:

Teresa Houle said...

I like that we both use Rubik's Cubes in our stories. I know I haven't mentioned that before the timing was never right. Now, is the time.