Some Love Don't Got No Right to Speak

We asked for the noir suite
with a flashing neon sign

outside the window.

I closed the door behind us,
and here's what she whispered

in my cauliflower ear:

When two equally dangerous people

sniff around the same flame,
they both lose 

their wings in fire and smoke.

Her father was attorney general

a few years back.

You're not a turnip, she said.
You're not, are you.

I blew cigarette smoke out my nose
like a cartoon bull.

No advantages known by the police, she said,

putting faith in an obviously dubious turd.

This is a story 

told from the point-of-view of a crook

with the hots for a high-heeled

daughter-of-privilege
and lots to lose.

A self-centered way of looking at it,

she said, like an undistinguished actor

playing an undistinguished human being.

Listen, sister, I know
the difference between a good

and a bad girl — so's I can,
so's I can
spit in anyone's eye.

I did before and had my share.
I got nowhere, she said.
It doesn't matter what you did.
We could see this night through.

What are you,
I said to the naked
two-pane window,

a bunch of cock suckers?

Stop laughing

or kiss my fist.