|
The Attitude
Elena Karina Byrne "...his hauteur |
 |
|
|
she has decided for him; he will pepper Artifacts, pure word codes |
|
|
||
| Molly Bendall from MATINEE IDYLLS Why don't we sit down at our usual place— the hat-box-of-a-table, and retrieve a momentary thing, like a Tuesday. I am fond of your jacket, but I do think the darkness should go down the front. Midsummer has turned a suspicious cheek to me rather than become the relief I'd counted on. The turbaned one by your aqua pool? A business associate? I heard the slap of her compact when I swung the gate. I could have been her, and worn the gold sandals that light up against the floral tiles. (That's another reward I give myself when I need some mercy.) You've carved an almost tropical space around yourself. It's all blurry to you. But look, past the verandah, above the jasmine, where the horizon is tissue paper thin, that's where I'll help you one last time. |
 |
|
| Richard Garcia LOAN SHARK It was the last quarter of the moon's surrender. Laura said You've got ice water for blood and a hunk of rock for a heart. True I told her, as I straightened my tie, and night, like a flood filled the window with darkness, my mirror. What was left of the moon got caught in the naked white branches of a tree, so bare I thought of a drowned man illimined by a searchlight. Laura slid up behind me in her black slip, all alabaster arms and pearl necklace. We're ghosts she said, so transparent we hardly exist, two shimmering puffs of gossamer dust. Meanwhile clouds circled the moon like sharks cruising, turning away, turning back, like sharks. |
 |
|
|
 |
Ron Koertge AMERICAN MOVIE CLASSICS As I watch the library clerk pluck books from the night-drop and trundle them toward the big door, I can't help but think of Richard Egan. In nearly every movie, he escapes from prison in a cart just like that. Free at last, he's dying to prove he's been blackmailed, but before that he wants to see his fiancée. She lives on the first floor of a rooming house. Her door is open. The bed is made. She's reading a book. Sweetheart she cries, I was just thinking about you! He smiles like Richard Egan. I need to see Mr. Big, baby. He can clear things with the cops. Get ready. Richard Egan polishes his uppercut for some pretty boy and maybe that broad in the silver shoes, too, as his girl lays her good blouse and scarf in a battered suitcase. She looks around the room, then murmurs Oh, that book I borrowed. On the way out of town, can we drop by the library? That grin of his. That white shirt with the top buttons torn off in a fight. Those big hands in her intellectual hair. |
Willie Sims
JUST THE FACTS MA'AM (714 Into 7 Won't Go)
She slithered into my office and shut the door quietly,
like she didn't want to warn her prey.
Please help me! she begged, My husband is having an affair."
She had a mouth to make and name babies with.
Her voice had more sex appeal than a lap dance at a strip club.
She wore an expensive blonde dye job, and elegant false eyelashes.
But her face was rumpled,
Like a woman who had won a contest to marry money and now was losing sleep.
As she took a seat in front of my desk, sobs took over her body.
I gave her my handkerchief, then waited to hear her Story.
Dames like her always have a Story.
Mean minutes meandered by. Finally she smiled.
A smile so gentle, so wholesome and pure, I knew it had to be phony.
She stroked me with her virgin's voice,
The kind of voice heard at night over a still, clear lake.
She cooed, "Please, Sergeant Friday, would you..."
I stood straight up and stopped her. Through clenched teeth I said
" Detective Sergeant Joe Friday is upstairs, room 714.
This is room 007. My name is Bond, James Bond."
The look on her face told me she belonged in my office like
Medusa at a Miss America Pageant.
She vamped out, and banged the door rudely.
Like she wanted to desecrate cold corpses in a funeral parlor.
I sat down in the chair still warm from her.
