Poeming: A Lesser Gumshoe

For yesterday’s prompt over at Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides, we were asked to write a poem that uses at least 3 of the following 6 words: con, flush, oxymoron, pass, rub, toxic. 

I plead 3 weeks of a nasty cold with a dash of insanity as to how this amalgamation of characters  emerged from my brain. I had such fun with it–think of me what you will, but remember, all parties are considered innocent until proven otherwise in a court of law….including the author….

 

A Lesser Gumshoe

“I would pass this time ‘round,”
she said, flicking the ash,
elbow on table, cigarette in
the air like
a torch lighting the night,
“on those last ten years.
A hard pass on those freakin’
ten years.”
“Why?” I asked, waving my
hand in my face,
waving the smoke from
my face like a stiff
wind off the coast.
“Hmph!” she snorted,
rolling her eyes, taking
a long, deep drag,
“Toxic ten years, bein’
treated like crap,
that was the
rub of those years.
If I could
have those years back
of my life, wonder what
I coulda done…
wonder what I coulda done…”
She paused, staring off
into space, her eyes
glittering like the
knock-off tennis
bracelet around her wrist,
“Oh well,” she said,
glancing my way,
blowing smoke,
me turning my face,
my eyes watering
like the fake stone
fountain in the corner
of the bar,
“Instead I ran a con on myself,
yes I did, thinking I could
change the ol’ bastard….
Hah!” burst her staccato
laugh out into the room,
stabbing the night
just like she’d stabbed him,
“mighta just as well
flushed those last years—
and these’ll never
be as high as they were
ten years ago,”
she said, grimacing and
cupping one breast.
Grinding her cigarette butt
into the ashtray shaped
like the state of Montana,
she flung out one last line
as the cop approached,
“Him and change—
what an oxymoron…”

I sneezed.

jle2018

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