The star on his pleated vest doesn’t shine as the crane pulls back,
showing a lone man in a deserted town.
Technicolor rain drips
on my window pane, taking me out of black-and-white Hadleyville
and placing me on a faded blue couch
in Florida.
The microwave beeps. She must have forgotten
Her tea on her way out, after slamming
the door.
I watch the gun fight while stirring honey into the tea; a hostage is taken,
a man shot in the back. My back aches
in grudging empathy
while the phone rings in the kitchen. I brush the hair
out of my eyes, admiring the mise-en-scene.
I am torn
between love and a classic movie. The raspberry tea is sweet
in my mouth as Garry Cooper throws his badge
into the dirt.
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