deepundergroundpoetry.com
Marrakech Express
in the cliché of a smoke filled bar, deep in the bowels of the
Moroccan underworld, I realized that I liked her too much.
my meeting with Bombaste’, lord of the criminal regime,
was set up in desperate haste. the entire city was in
lockdown, & I needed him to secure my safe passage out,
on the Express. of course, I could have made my escape
by way of an airport, but a train is so much more romantic.
my noir was getting so predictable…
…for two years I had labored at the Blaize Diamond
Company, as a security specialist, in order to establish a
position of trust. a few days ago, according to plan, I set off
the fire alarm to clear the building. then I activated the timer
on explosives I had deployed. before exiting, I left behind my
Omega watch, one boot, & some charred clothing, as proof
of my tragic demise.
disguised in a janitor’s uniform, I disappeared in the panicked
crowd, secreting a fortune in heisted diamonds in a small
canvas bag. but the authorities wouldn’t be fooled for long.
and so entered Bombaste’ into my melodrama. his price was
high: half of my purloined gems, which I conceded. but he also
wanted Solange, the most alluring of my bad habits, who had
avoided tenaciously, his greasy pursuit.
love is a valuable commodity; it can be bartered. a woman in
love will commit acts of utter lunacy for the scoundrel who has
captured her heart. in the heat of our illicit passion’s afterglow,
she agreed to meet Bombaste’ at her private country retreat.
I knew she would be enticing in her powder blue djellaba.
…in my newly bleached-blonde hair & an impeccable Armani suit,
I was above reproach as I hurried through the crowded station,
the diamonds sewn into the lining of my jacket. at this moment,
Bombaste’ would be sleeping the big sleep, a dagger protruding
from his back: Solange was very good with a knife.
and finally, I was seated on the express to liberty, Solange next to
me, her arms hugging mine lovingly…
so predictable. yes.
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