November Noir

[november-noir]

[untitled]

No one would quite believe what he found— skin pale as pearl, scales sharp and hard as emeralds covering her piscine tail.

Stranded when the flood waters receded, here on the box of ruined books golden hair turned dingy brown, limp as rotting seaweed. 

[november-noir]

[untitled]

From where we stood, we could look over the world's edge, where the ocean fell away in great roaring torrents into vertiginous depths. "The earth isn't round," you said. "Nor flat either. Instead it gently curves away."

Clouds plumed higher out of the aquatic abyss. And I held you a little tighter as I took a step back. 

[november-noir]

random lines

The distant cottage far from city lights.  

He pauses in the shadowed doorway a fedora low over his eyes (as if that doesn’t look conspicuous) to let the flashing police lights pass.

Cold sweat blends into the damp bricks. He pats his overcoat for a cigarette but only finds a crumpled empty pack. Which way to turn now? 

Sirens echo through the concrete canyons, baying like bloodhounds. Turn left? Turn right? His trembling leg betrays a calm step. 

Dark, heavy clouds idle above promising rain, delivering none. If only those drops would fall, and wash away this guilty stench.

[november-noir]

bonfire

Remember, remember the fifth of November….

Our fingers turned white and numb almost instantly. The onrushing surf pounded the beach with frigid air.

The bonfire built on driftwood veins, its infernal heart beating flames higher into the night above and we drew closer, closer. 

I could smell your hair over pungent seaside incense, as your hand slipped into my jacket pocket, licked the last of the whiskey from the flask there, then kissed my fingers warm again. 

[november-noir]

hitchhiker

Two men in a car— the driver, hands scratched to hell; the passenger in weather-stained hat and coat.

The road ahead, endless and dark, punctuated by an occasional diner or gas station (closed for the night).

"Where you going?" "Wherever you are," he answers, with a sneeze,  then blows his nose.

"Where you from?" "Back there," the driver jerks his thumb. "Same as you."

They only catch each others faces reflected in the windshield's glare by a pair of oncoming headlights.

Sideways glances prowl— a red-stain on the left pant leg; a leaden weight in the right jacket pocket. 

[november-noir]

late night cafe

The thin stream of cream forms a cloudy plume in the black coffee … until his spoon stirs [the whole lot] [muddy] brown.

Downstairs, the barista bangs the porta-filters, steamed milk screeches from its tin pitcher, burrs constantly grinding beans.

Every table a single occupant tonight—nervous, shifty insomniacs huddled over their cups.

He scans the faces in the dimly lit cafe, for what? An errant, knowing glance? No, still[Nothing, …] safely ignored.

[november-noir]

cigarette in rain

Rain nips at the match, even through sheltering fingers; on her lips, nicotine and gin mix, every exhale given the weight of a sigh— the smoke clings about her fur-trimmed collar.

She pushes up against the alley wall, her small dry spot shrinking. A choked gutter gurgles in rhythm with the scurrying passers-by.

Tonight, no one stops to ask for a cigarette or light.

Heads tucked down, hats and umbrellas angled.

Shoes and stockings soaked. 

[november-noir]

the empty hours

Follow the yellow dash line home— three in the morning, the roads lie barren of Halloween revelers now, except a few burst jack-o'-lantern shells.

Thin wisps of fog begin to curl into the headlight beams. Those crisp October evenings have passed; golden leaves drop[fall], chilled dead[????] in the new November morning.