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Niagara on the Lake, Ontario, Canada
My virtue is that I say what I think, my vice that what I think doesn't amount to much.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

A Noirish Poem by Hilary S. Jacqmin | The Awl

The Girl Detective

"'So, it’s come to that,' she said. 'You’re jealous of policemen.'"
—Dashiell Hammett, The Thin Man

The girl detective does not date
She sits at home eating a piece of devil’s food cake
with red frosting She sits at home
with a pregnancy test
Icebox light slats the kitchenette

The girl detective rolls seamed stockings down
one at a time, slips off her crepe de chine
and navy pumps In dotted swiss pajamas
she yanks out the lousy Murphy bed
flips on her hot-bulb Hawaiian lamp
the hula dancer’s pampas skirt sways
hips like lava skin like kola nut

The girl detective sets her honey hair
in frozen orange juice cans
She double-checks
her clutch purse for Sweetheart tweezers, compact, blush
then badge and gun

Foundation caramelizes in her vanity mirror
a bullet lipstick ricochets
across the room The girl detective dreams
of handcuffs slanted grillework
lost keys and prison movies where the girls
are Lana Turner blond

All her exes broke
the law or moved to Hollywood
in search of starlets sunglass swimming pools
palm trees and palisades
green velvet theatres sinking into mossy film noir

The girl detective keeps a corkscrew handy
things always do go south it’s best to be prepared

Via The Awl

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