No one ever knocks anymore: A Noir Nocturne

gum on the shoe of a man with a gun
         that and a nose for trouble, head for booze and eye for 
               the kinda girl who can make a crowded bar sweat
condensation beading on lips
                                         even the glasses can’t look away

in a red dress and heels she walks in
                                             what else. dames. every one acts like
she’s the first case walked in here all
                                           week. can’t remember the last time
head pounds hangover, lip curls to cut.

“Hey Dollface…”

but
        this one’s different
                                           she has a gun
                                                              too

hammer cocked back .38 cyclops wide primed against
     anvil of recognition. ACME printed on the side.
                   chest caves in memory implosion
                   Wile E Coyote flat in the wake
Roadrunner in red raises one black brow
       over
      those eyes
                          ice blue diamonds glitter

“you have the most beautiful eyes…“
in a sundress and a straw hat she poured cheap wine
seedy celebration for a job well done
wicked smile dances

well, never thought I’d see you
                again with the gun? you always had issues with
                                 trust me. I know what I’m

                         gun handle pole axe stun temple desecrated
            floored. fade to black. oblivion
     as welcoming a sight I have not

               seen the plates on the getaway car. feet staggered to
                              running down the dingy stairs, two at a time
                                          tires squeal, ignition catches. sputters

“stop it. you silver tongued….”
a kiss, a glance, frame a moment .
two thieves at the top of their game

engage. pursuit. not again you siren
          wails, screech, dodge the fuzz, speeding
                    to conclusions. she must have come

for the empty band of skin on a white knuckled hand on the wheel
for the fingers, so fragile. love is a femme fatale with a knife in hand
for the memory of better days, the broken knuckles of a brawler, a drunk, a

“A toast. To us. To the best thieves in this damn dirty…”
city lights wash out the stars but all he sees
diamond eyes reflect the streetlights halogen glare
backlit billboards set the scene

thieving witch, this is what I get. never trust a
     fool and his money, funny how cool the breeze
             clears the air. breathe in clean

she always did have nerves of steel and
                                            curves in the road betray how he feels
his way in the darkness, car parked a block
                   away she ran but tabs kept. bolt hole motel can’t run

gun in hand. gum on shoe. hands of a man who knows he won’t shoot

“here. I want you to have this…”
dive bar at 3AM, heads packed with sand, hearts full
a pull from the bottle, a neon love song
married to the thrill of the chase

just to see her one more time can’t trust my own mind
         can’t turn her in but oh through the
    window pane ballet, Venetian blinds broken

she looks at a glint of light in her palm.
tears fall like shell casings the last time
fingers curl, clutch like churls for lust

       woman in a red dress. legs to here and pain for years

“two halves, one heart. two diamonds….”