A more "pulpy" or perhaps more "noir-ish" poem. Another one I'm quite fond of.
My poetry and early short stories are available in Gomer and Other Early Works.
Gomer
Wiping
a tear from her reflection
in the dull light
of a 60 watt bulb in the bathroom
of Room 38-B,
she sighs, and slides her stockings
again over her knees.
Through the clatterous chattering,
the dead blue light
thrown from the TV screen,
Babylon sits,
reaches across the tussled sheets
for another cigarette.
His voice calls with an unearthly clarity,
hiss-like and striking,
"Next Thursday, hon'?"
a regular appointment,
marked in ink.
The blue and yellow blinks
from the neon advertisement
cascade through the closed shades,
flashing one word
dully against the glass:
VACANCY.
in the dull light
of a 60 watt bulb in the bathroom
of Room 38-B,
she sighs, and slides her stockings
again over her knees.
Through the clatterous chattering,
the dead blue light
thrown from the TV screen,
Babylon sits,
reaches across the tussled sheets
for another cigarette.
His voice calls with an unearthly clarity,
hiss-like and striking,
"Next Thursday, hon'?"
a regular appointment,
marked in ink.
The blue and yellow blinks
from the neon advertisement
cascade through the closed shades,
flashing one word
dully against the glass:
VACANCY.
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