Like a Postman Ringing Twice

by Alan Catlin

she bought me Schenley's and ice,
love in strange places, furious sex,
desperate and wanton as if we were
partners in some crime story as yet
unwritten, James M. Cain characters
on the run from laws we hadn't broken,
our uncommitted crimes as unsavory as
our hearts and our minds addled with
all the cheap gin and late night movies
we watched, the black and white shadows
moving on stained walls in unlighted rooms
we shared on the edge of industrial strength
nightmares we couldn't stop dreaming
so gone on life's poisoned drinks
we thought the sun rose at night leaving
heat rashes on our skin cold showers and
lotions could not assuage all the empty
days and nights of the moonlight and mayhem
of our lives.