When dust motes emote.

When dust motes emote.

I remember it

More of a cave than a bar

Perhaps I imagined it

In black and white

Casablanca

Or the Maltese Falcon

Americans in big hats and

White shirts

With sweat stains under the arms

Spooning with Hepburn

Running a blockade

On the African queen

What do you mean

I should write a story

It doesn’t work like that

Give me a drink

Two fingers

Ought to do it

Oiling the wheels

Never Bogart the joint

Before the reel needs changing

When the truth dawns

With a rush

Of stale air

Sucked out of a projection room

Full of the dust

From dirty ashtrays

Everything smelt of popcorn

For want of a deep clean

Nobody ventures there

In daylight

Windows and skylights

Boarded up to prevent

The truth getting out

Or in

It all looks the same after

The third or fourth round

Have you ever slid a drink

From one end of a bar to another

Caught it with one hand

Swallowed hard

Before the scene cuts to the chase

Which always ends in the same way

The hero never dies

Alone on the road

But in the arms of a stranger

We always thought he knew

From a distance

Before the dialogue was added

Nothing you say here

Will be recorded

The tape machine is broken

Every word spoken

Is wasted on you

Bless, what do you mean

You don’t care for happy endings?

It should be me

Who has the last word

That is the way this shit works.

Do as I say

I’m the one with the pencil

This is my reverie

You are just part of the scenery

A plus one

Until I’m all done

And dusted.