Farewell My Lovely
by Raymond Chandler.
It was a pity the Baker dame didn’t show.
She’d had the kind of look that says “How do you like your breakfast eggs?”
The Pollock dame held up a glass.
I poured.
She said, “Do you call that a drink?”
I said, “It is where I come from.”
She said, “Where’s that?” “Brighton,” I said. “Well, Hove actually.”
She took the bottle and emptied it into her glass.
She didn’t much like the book.
Some of the dames were like Theseus without his thread.
Others went for the labyrinthine plot twist.
The Chinese Chemist and the Old Postman loved it.
The Irish Guy had his ass on both sides of the fence.
I worried about splinters.
We talked about morality, motivation and the super nova in the region of Ursa Major.
Miss Annie Pollock saddled up.
I watched her red rear light wobble off into the Hull night.
NS September 2011
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