Film Noir

Kevin Young

THE HIDEOUT

Woke up dead

Tired, in my arms

an empty

An instead. Tried

sleeping it off,

My hangover of her,

wishing for some hair

Of the dog—or slow purr—

My tongue

white, eyes red.

The light my eye hurts

I am in chalk, an outline,

a back-alley body

Afraid this face

in the mirror (that hides

My strychnine mouthwash)

may be the only one left.

Do I need again

to lose my skin, start

A new town, man?

Grow a beard

Or become one?

I’m sick of taking

It on the chin, of waking

gimlet-eyed from the gin—

Shoe soles like carpet,

or excuses, grown thin.

Cloudy tap water.

One dusty aspirin.

Outside my newsprint

curtains—the black

& white of words,

yellowing—

What I can no more weather

I watch till I’m sure

no light remains

Night staining the streets clean

THE WAGON

My reputation

exceeds me. Temptation

littering the bar, chanteuse

piano-perched, her sifter

of brandy empty. Fifths

of watered whisky.

Wagoned

or a week, I’m no good

to anyone, soft-

boiled, unsalted.

Haunted—

her quinine kisses

her microphone caress.

Wanted to hold her like her

two-faced fur stole,

that foxy smile.

(Instead teethmarks

punctuate my skin

like perforated parentheses.)

Barkeep’s glass

eye like an olive

The sharks circling the pool

table in the back, sniffing

out green. Felt

myself losing my arm

wrestle bout between

sarsaparilla

& something stronger.

Sleep.

Step on out

into the cold—under

the awning bouncers

stomp & nod

like hunched horses,

their breath billowing.

Lovers pass in hansom

cabs. Who will stop for me,

screech at my jaywalk, honk

to let me in? The moon

winking its way across sky,

I hail like Mary

The Charon Cab Co.

to sail through the city—

my cabbie, an escapee

from the state, swerves

& swears at the salt-

covered cars

brushing so close

you could lean out

into wind & plant

each one a kiss.

MIDNIGHT RAMBLE

Leaving the coffin-cold

theater in winter

Single-barrel moon

aimed above us

He escorted & told me

lies I wanted

To warm my ears

The moon’s lazy eye

razored shut

The two of us

fought that hawk

Walking through wind

across a world that once

Seemed so flat I feared

I might could fall off—

Now Flora, every horizon

got another behind it

Least that’s what

Mama would say—Just you wait—

But I hightailed it north

& changed my name.

Beneath the shrapnel sky

I wanted to run

From here to the train

& buy me a ticket one way—

I’m tired of eviction

The radio’s same station

Playing woe & blues

Said tired of eviction

the radio’s same station

Arguing whose man is whose.

I want some diesel bound

south, making all stops—

No more neighbor’s

whooping cough

No more leaky

solos from the faucets

Or landlords who pinch,

swapping winks for late rent.

Graveyard-shift moon

that turns men mad—

Let me trade fire

escape for front porch

Let me ride

sunset down to where

Train’s the only whistle

& a girl don’t got to cry

to keep herself company

Where moonshine ain’t just sky

& you can catch catfish

Sure as a man—bearded, polite—

already fixed up & fried.