film noir

I hate the fog, it’s sort of lonely
ida lupino says
as my hand runs down
the smooth skin exposed by her backless dress
your fingers are cold, she sighs
let’s go in here

we go to the bar
I buy her a short beer
she draws on a long cigarette
& blows the smoke out in a sarcastic curl
she’s looking at me straight on
remember what you said darling
when we were looking at the stars
life, you said, is too short
to waste time with memories
well, I think you’re right

she goes over
& asks the piano player
if she can sing
some desolate song she knows
she has the kind of voice that
you’d expect to find in a place like this
perched on top of the piano
skirt pulled high
swinging that crossed leg
deliberately
perfectly

as I place a bet
on another shot of rye

I was hoping
to find something in her
that I’d been missing all my life
but she didn’t have it
no one does

later on she says
she’s been cheating on me
with robert mitchum
& when I ask her why
she just shrugs her shoulders
pouts with her lower lip
& says that it’s because
he always holds his glass
with such an air of

detachment

I walk home alone
wrapped in the gray night
I understand what she means now
about the fog