Snagged in a barbed-wire smile
Spotlit in the slanted light that stabs through the slats
(But caresses the dame, like the light likes her more)
Pinned down by heat you just have to imagine
-- The cig-smoke you can see, like stains on your eyes --
And by black shadows and the chance for black blood
And by never-more-than-greylight sky
In a place and time where the brightest light is the flash from a gun
-- "You're the one flatfoot who could solve my case," the dame says,
Betting that flattery and a hidden snub-nose will get her everywhere.
(Curves like she's got will do that, too, of course,
curves like a rain-slick mountain road. You know what happens there.)
That dame will just have to learn I have what I call "wire-cutters"...
(Copyright 2011 Christopher Walsh. Attempted sillness inspired by back-and-forth on LJ with greygirlbeast.)
© Christopher Walsh, 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Christopher Walsh (chris_walsh) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. This notice is supplemental to/more formal than the notice I originally put on the poem.