MUG SHOT

As a long-time fan of American crime writers Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler and the many ‘Noir’ films that their novels inspired, I once wrote a lengthy narrative rhyming poem, Bullets at the Bank, that has yet to find a publishing niche. 

Alongside it I wrote a number of ‘shorts’ in a similar vein, collectively entitled Mug Shots, as homage to the old American black and white films that I so enjoyed as a boy in the 1950s. 

Despite their brevity, each tells a story. 

Here’s one of them. It’s probably best to read it with a pronounced American drawl. 

  

THE DUMB-ASS GUY

What kind of dumb-ass guy am I 

to screw my life up for a dame? 

She tells me now, two weeks too late, 

she’s married to a guy can maim: 

a goddam killer, that’s no lie.

Turns out this gal is murder bait. 

I’m holed up, like a jailhouse rat,  

regretting how it all began 

with that doll’s cute, seductive drawl. 

She’s gone. I’m working out a plan 

but, goddam, it’s like singing scat: 

my plan don’t make no sense at all.