Wartime Noir

    (circa 1944)  
 
Sparks flying off asphalt of a  
June summer's heat and humidity  
after another shower for the day.  
 
I huddle in the open doorway  
of a deli, partially hidden under  
the striped awning, a neon sign  
flickers in the display window.  
 
The smell of warm pastrami on rye  
entices passers-by to come in.  
That's New York City for you,  
the bustle of pedestrians racing  
 
always against the red lights until  
a cloudburst makes people gather,  
temporary acquaintances, in  
every doorway, from the downpour.  
 
Most will filter into the shop for  
coffee and a blintz, or egg salad;  
the street eerily bare at the moment  
 
until a taxi pulls up and there you are,  
wearing a summer trench that  
falls open and collapses from the  
vortex of your rush to get in.  
 
Holding my breath, I watch in secret  
as you bend low, rain beads from the  
passing storm shimmer and hold fast  
in your impeccably groomed hair.  
 
I have the urge to join you, and so I  
start to cross towards the curb, when  
a cop rushes up asking me,  
               do I know what time it is?  
 
I shake my head, looking past him.  
Why the hell doesn't he know,  
I ask myself as he runs off.  
He's a cop for Christ's sake!  
 
In quiet dread I see the cab  
pull away with you in it,  
tires hissing on wet pavement,  
steam rising from the exhaust.  
 
I squint through the haze at the fading  
tail lights while holding a soggy  
newspaper over my hair, headline reads:  
"INVASION BEGINS:  
            ALLIES LAND IN FRANCE"  
 
 
©2016 Jade Pandora. All Rights Reserved.  
Entered in the DUP competition "Stuck in the wrong era"  
 
Preview piece: NYC - stock color photo