Thursday

It was the ass-end of a shitty Thursday.

Pale moonlight reflected in rain-puckered

puddles across the cracked pavement.

I hunched into my grey trench-coat, and wedged

the grey fedora against the sporadic gusts,

quickstepping across to the waiting cab.

 

Joe’s place I said, and the driver grunted in reply,

crunching gears as we splashed down the road.

It was a short ride, so I slipped him a five

and told him to keep the change as I surveyed

the welcoming glow of dim lights that trickled

through the streaked windows of the bar.

 

She was on a stool at the end of the bar,

twizzling an olive in her martini, the red dress

cut so low I could see her breakfast.

The bartender brought a shot glass as I sat down,

slopping the JD in without needing to ask.

Leave the bottle I said, it’s been a rough day.

 

Did ya find him Sam, she asked through

hooded eyes, a quaver in her voice.

I found him I replied, he’s moved in

with Rita over on the south side. She

tried to speak, but no words came out

at first, and she took a deep breath.

 

The dirty bum she whispered, I shoulda known.

Let me buy you a drink I said, then

I’ll walk you home. No thanks, she replied,

I’m outta here. I poured another drink

as she left, just another broken heart

at the ass-end of a shitty Thursday.

◄ Turf Stains

Dawn Chorus ►

Comments

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jennifer Malden

Wed 23rd Jun 2021 18:03

Lovely Trevor! Even before reading Stephen's comment it shouted 'Marlowe'. Incredible atmosphere especially in the first verse. One can really see it happening as in a film.

Jennifer

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Stephen Atkinson

Wed 16th Jun 2021 17:34

Very Marlow-esque. A grubby gumshoe sipping away the ass-end of a shitty Thursday. Love it!

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Trevor Alexander

Wed 16th Jun 2021 16:57

Thanks guys. 😊

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Stephen Gospage

Wed 16th Jun 2021 16:22

This is outstanding, Trevor. Truly.

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Greg Freeman

Tue 15th Jun 2021 17:57

The trench coat, the fedora, the olive in the martini - clearly not a Wetherspoon's. Great noir atmosphere. Make mine a double, Trevor.

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