A Bow To Film Noir Poem by Sonny Rainshine

Still warm on the scarlet chaise: a silver pistol,
small enough to fit into a purse;
lethal enough to send a man to his reward.

Sprawled on the thick-piled royal blue carpet:
a man savoring his reward,
handsome, immaculately suited, dead.

The woman at the window:
relaxed, confidant, smiling,
flicks the ashes from a Lucky Strike
and watches the flickering neon sign
outside the sleazy motel.

Vacancy; VACANCY; vacancy;
VACANCY; vacancy; VACANCY;
That’s a laugh,
she thought,
eyes gazing vacantly.