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Sancti Spiritus

Beach

Trinidad

What's old is new again.

Morning Shadows.

Awkward Still Life.

Wires vs Trees.

The birds chose the trees.

Etched Egg.

Profile Pic.

Doodle

If Beat Poets Wrote Murder Mysteries

I had just downed another swig of appetizer when

in walked trouble

real bad trouble

like the kind that comes in a plain brown envelope

the 8 by 10 size

slid under the door of someone who

least expects it but

most deserves it

I wasn’t sure at first except that

they were right on time and

they were sinister enough

in a film noir sort of way

one dame and a beefy thug

him with

hair slicked and

wearing ill-fitting sports coat with

tell-tale bulges and

her a curvaceous blond in sultry pink frock that

fit in all the right places and

icy blue eyes framed by

coal black lashes as long as the drawl of

her syrupy southern greeting  which

dripped like

poison from smirking pink lips and

floated across the room on a wave of

magnolia perfume pausing at

my nostrils and

finally

slithering into my eardrums and

coiling around my pounding heart and

then I knew her

Delilah

the snake

blond now

brunette then and right on time

I wanted to kiss her then

kill her or

kill her then kiss her or probably just

kill her but

beefy thug deterred me and

anyway

she didn’t know it was me and

she didn’t know that I knew what

she had done and

she didn’t know that I had friends that

she thought were hersso I waited at the bar in the shadows

in my Acme Electrical ball cap and

overalls and fake mustache and

took another swig

bile and scotch churning in my gut and

one gloved fist motionless on the bar

ready

I waited

watched as they strode

her all confident like

to the back of the restaurant and

took possession of the table beneath the crystal chandelier

like it belonged to them

like they always did

her with thoughts no doubt

of invincibility

smug expressions  

the two of them

her settling gracefully smiling

practiced and perfect full of

superiority at

the waiter who placed the

stuffed mushroom caps on the table without

expression

and him thuggish brute plopping down

beside her brushing his beefy noggin against

the chandelier

recently purchased from Joe’s Hardware discount aisle

and installed by me with a few alterations

my Dremel tool cutting blade

still warm in my pocket

like complimentary stuffed mushroom caps

still warm on their table

stuffed just for her

compliments from the chef

I watched her pink lips forming words

I would never hear but

wanted to

those perfect smirking lips over

perfect pearly teeth

batting her lashes ever so coyly and

I kept trying to imagine

a different ending

her eyes sliding obliviously over me and

bathing me with distain and fueling my

icy cold conviction

now it stuck

like gum on a beat cop’s shoe but still

I kept still and silent asking why

Delilah why why why

my fist still wrapped

with  30 pound fishing line

recently purchased from Joe’s Hardware store and

strung through pulleys wrapped

around nearly severed cables hanging by a thread

waiting for the moment

the waiter at their table holding

his thumb to his ear and pinky to his lips beckoning to

beefy thug who rises knocking his noggin again

the chandelier sways and catches the light

spraying it around the room

she is mesmerized and follows

light and sound tinkling crystal shards of murderous light and

sound upward

I watch her brow rise and

she is amused confused then

quizzical brows lower over narrowing eyes that

meet mine with

accusatory glare unsure

again upward with icy blues

she looks

I tug

the line

my heart strings

tear

the chandelier drops and

she is too late for beefy intervention

I am too late for her explanation

red drops gush from her empty eyes and

there is horror chaos and

madness

only one drop of a different sort slides down my cheek

and I think under different circumstances

in a time of redemption for instance

we might have stayed friends

I coil fishing line

shed cap and overalls toss it all in

the deep fryer along with

a cigarette butt

revenge is a dish best served cold and

I was feverishly hot as I ducked like

a chicken into the waiting darkness