the rix mix

for Liz French

I was sitting in what passes for my office
on the second floor of run down building
over a bad Chinese restaurant on Wilshire
& about to crack open the bottle I keep in my desk drawer
when she walked in. She sat down across from me
& dropped her cigarette in the ashtray.
I poked at the smoking stub with a pencil, & said,
"I suppose your name is Velma."

"How'd ya guess?" she said. "I suppose
you're a private investigator,
like it says in chipped paint on your door."

Labels: poem, WFMU

# posted by Bob : 12:22 AM

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