Sunday, March 22, 2009

Enrique Souffle


It was shot in black and white,
but it would have looked the same in color –
the gray, fleabag motel
chosen by the young film maker
for his desperate robber.
A night on the lam before skipping town.

He had a suitcase of money,
a gun, dark sunglasses,
was trying to break out,
and you could clearly see across the street –
the Triumph motorcycle shop
basking in the California sun.

On Washington Boulevard
I found that bike shop
and looked across the slick black street –
empty lot,
motel gone,
the mud in living color.
I had a suitcase of ticket stubs,
the Ray-Bans, was trying to break in.

Damn! Where was I going to sleep?

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