His fedora, brim pulled low
above five o’clock shadow framed
in the up-turned collar of a shabby trench coat
made me giggle, even though the cleft
beneath that stubbled jaw triggered
a tiny flutter in my you-know-what.
He seemed too old for retro-chic
too macho to waste time
on a flickering midnight screen’s
dark romantic dreams.
Still, any port in a storm – a girl
does what a girl’s got to do
so I sidled over, flashed a joint,
headed for the back door.
He followed like I knew he would
turned out to be a gent
didn’t Bogart, didn’t brag.
After my sob story
we got down to business.
He wants 3 C’s a day plus expenses
No can do. We agree on two.
He’ll find my missing cockatoo
the ivory vase
Beneath the coat-
pinned against the lapel
of his pin-stripe suit?
A purple rose.
You gotta love it.