Indigo Papastrami

Turned the corner from the alley

to the busy city street…

put his clothes in the dryer at the 

laundromat, a fat woman in curlers

with a drooping cigarette 

giving him the eye…

shrouded in mist 

entered the cemetery

listening to the rain patter

on his fedora…

packed his suitcase…

left his gun in the hotel nightstand

drawer, on top of the Gideon Bible…

remembered that sunny afternoon

in the glade with the girl and the stuff

and the music and the colors…

his life flashed in front of him

like an old new car commercial.