These vignettes (I hesitate to call them poems) have been fun to write and getting acquainted with those hard-boiled, cynical protagonists, whose edgy lives seem constantly in jeopardy, has been a delight.
The nameless guy here, making a smooth getaway to a new life with both the gal and the dough, strikes me as a particularly fortunate man.
Let's name him Lucky.
Where to? I ask her and she smiles.
Be cool, Cool Guy: gimme a light.
She inhales deep then off we glide.
The dame’s in charge, somehow it riles:
dolls driving guys just ain’t polite,
but she’s like no dame that I’ve met:
drives like a guy, acts smart and tough.
I talk, she drives; she talks, I smoke
a Lucky Strike: great cigarette.
I’ve struck it lucky, sure enough:
the gal, the money, at a stroke.