Noir
(For P. D.)
The rumbling el casts shadows from the moon;
Some truth must be entangled from the lies;
The rats are dying, plague will be here soon.
The low-life bars sound with a wailing tune;
The frightened man knows something, but he dies;
The rumbling el casts shadows from the moon.
The woman’s screams now soften to a croon;
She knows a lot, you dare not trust her sighs;
The rats are dying, plague will be here soon.
The hired thugs get smashed, and that’s a boon,
But Mister Big eludes you and cracks wise;
The rumbling el casts shadows from the moon.
Your questing dick is just a sad buffoon,
But then you figure out the bloody ties;
The rats are dying, plague will be here soon.
Almost too late, you smash through one last goon,
Deserted warehouse blazing, villain dies;
The rumbling el casts shadows from the moon.
The rats are dying, plague will be here soon.
--J. Quinn Brisben
11 APR 2005
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