Private detective fiction and the cinema genre Film Noir are abiding fascinations of mine. The downtrodden gumshoe making the ocean drive, moth to a flame, towards the femme fatale in herringbone suit .. it's meat and drink to my muse.  This poem emerged from that black and white world. Here's looking at you kid .....

Lack Of Emotion

The headlights flare chevrons,

Cats-eyes flash fastforward,

In the bay below rainlashed

Boats bob shoreward

This is where i hit the wall or

Swerve cliffside to the ocean,

A half-hearted fishtail as i recall

Your absolute lack of emotion.

And now the rock draws near,

It forms a welcome shroud,

Take me, Envelop me,

As i shriek your name out loud.

This is where Imeet my maker

And ask Him if he has a notion

Why, even on heaven's catwalk

You model a lack of emotion?