A Sad Affair For Celluloid

When they can't
see the obvious you
might want to tell them to
move to a new microscope
telescope or a crystal ball
without blemish or cracks.

A young bartender
friend who's cross stitched
her name to private
thoughts with enticing
gold thread talks to me
more than slightly upset.

I see her eyes red
as if she's escaped from
hell or found love
in a fire sale.
I find out the latter is true.

Her boyfriend and another
bartender are involved
in a film noir plot
with betrayal
the smoking gun
in their manicured hands
adding special effects.

Such as big tears
late night calls from hospitals
police stations and a wax
museum where alibis
melt under combined
duress and inspection.
And I hear Vincent Price
say-no one is winning here.

The boyfriend's cute as
a greeting card, living rent
free with her
steals cash too from her
purse while she sleeps
after coming home at
5 or 530 am.

He has no job
though he's been looking
for months-you gotta
admire tenacity.

Yet she doesn't
blame him, she blames the other
bartender saying
"She knew he was mine."
I would ask to see
papers of ownership but she’s
distraught as a dancer
whose music has been turned off.

I could tell her guys
like that don't belong
to anybody. They just take until
they move on to someone else
with more to take from.
I find it all too exhausting.

"How could she do
this to me," she asks.
Once again blaming
the wrong person.
"I thought she was
my friend." Tears
fall from eyes
azure but now dim
and dark as nightfall.

I tell her it all sounds like
a sad affair for celluloid
with actors chosen only
for scandals in their past.

My comment doesn't register
its footprints in water
as she excoriates her former
best girlfriend so fiercely
I can't hear anymore.

Dispassionate, I pay, head
outside to the stifling warmth
embracing me like a desperate
old lover who won't ask much.
Which drained is all I've got
wondering if in Hell
there's a fire sale
for my soul. or
others like it. 


Broken Camera Snapshots

I hang upside down
with my mouth
duck taped
it is our
first date.

Holding a gun
she dares me again
to steal her heart.

Tease of
the warmth of spring
between arguments.

Then love disappears
a butterfly venturing
to wider nets.

A final meeting
lacking even one
moment of grace.

A bouquet of roses
drowned in tears
floats in river.

 
False Fantasies 
 
I just want 
to ravage her madly 
he says. in ways 
far from Orthodox 
on a bed or in grass 
even sand, adding she 
is all he thinks of.
This young movie star 
I'm unaware of. 

I tell him to be real 
as if he could. 
To focus on the 
bartender, both 
cute, young and 
for months now 
giving him far more 
free drinks than me. 
Though I'm a lot more 
generous with tips. 
 
He details a dream 
that follows the 
screenplay of one 
of the starlet's films. 
Where she meets 
him in another 
country, they 
become lovers 
flying to Spain 
where he proves 
his love, killing a 
bull fighter who tries 
to assault her holding 
sword and cape. 
 
Or maybe I just 
made that last part 
up like a poem 
where any ending 
becomes a lie 
or close or… 
 
I go play pool 
returning to 
find him trying 
to convince the 
waitress she should 
go with him to Spain 
where he can kill 
a bull for her. Maybe 
a bull fighter. 
She looks at him 
like he's crazy.   
I do too as I sit 
down next to him 
and switch to whiskey.