Poetry on medium
Black and White
Sonnet stories
She walked across the room, a feral cat,
a gait to make a man weak at the knees.
Her bodycon sheer black, and she, all that,
took out a cigarette, and gestured: please.
I fumbled for a lighter, hands unsteady.
No luck — pants pocket jingling with loose change.
The desk’s top drawer came to the rescue. Ready,
she bent her face towards me. “Something strange”,
she said, a kitten toying with a mouse,
“is happening, my husband’s not been home.
Can you find out if he’s a cheat, the louse.
Please bring him back, wherever he may roam”.
Recovering, I nodded, lit cigar.
I should have known it will be a noir.
I write mostly formal poetry, sometimes soulful, often irreverent, and occasionally downright bawdy. Think Dr. Seuss collaborates with Chaucer. Well, maybe halfway. If you find that intriguing, more is available here.
