Carson Albion Private Eye Walks The Boulevard of Memories: A Poem

May 11, 2018 at 10:59 pm (Detective story, Film, Literature, Poetry) (, , , , )

Carson Albion Private Eye Walks The Boulevard of Memories: A Poem

Carson Albion Private Eye sat in his office with the sideway blinds of his window slightly open
to let in the evening twilight
He loved the evening twilight
just as he loved neon lights
His office window gave him a view of the neon lights of downtown

How beautiful they looked in the evening twilight
They looked even more beautiful in the snow and the rain
One of the few creations of man that did look more beautiful in the snow and the rain

When it snowed or rained
while strolling the city streets
he looked up at the signs of neon advertising the gods Coca-Cola and Miller Beer
and then he looked down at the sidewalk gutters for signs of rhinestone cowboys
but they must have already been washed down to the sewers
dwelling place of nightmares, monsters and vermin
and assassins of character who work for the last Trump
and wait for John McCain to die.

The ceiling fans in his office blew cold air down on his head
offering relief from the heat of the night
The bottle of bourbon stood open on his desk
offering relief from those memories too painful to bear

She… she… her…
He never told her that he loved her
but that was because she was his best friend
How would she react to the news that he wanted to take their relationship up another level
what if she didn’t feel the same way about him?
Then he’d have lost his best friend.

Because such are the ways of male-female friendship
that if one of them loves the other too much
in a way above and beyond what they had previously understood
There’s no going back

It was like what Dermot Mulroney’s character said to Julia Roberts’ character in the film
My Best Friend’s Wedding
when Julia announces she wants the romance over
Dermot weeps, “I’m losing my best friend.”

Somehow though they manage to hold on to the friendship
in the film that is
but that’s Hollywood
and we all know how much Hollywood echoes real life
For real life is not a fairy tale
and they only award Oscars
for dramatic performances
not for actually surviving day to day.

Albion saw the reflection of himself in his glass
Was a reflection still a Selfie by any other name?
and just what was it the liquid showed?
True colours or a distortion of reality?

The liquid went down his throat
well posting on Facebook or Instagram never tasted this good.
He lowered his hat
loosened his tie
opened his shirt
closed his eyes
and let his mind wander
down that lost boulevard of memories.

-A poem written by Christopher
Friday May 11th 2018.

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Carson Albion In Havana

December 9, 2017 at 7:20 pm (Detective story, Mystery, Poetry, Romance) (, , , , , , )

Carson Albion In Havana

It was underneath a clear blue Cuban sky
walked the man Carson Albion Private Eye
He had been hired in a deli that sold salami
by a wealthy Cuban exile in Miami
to find the man’s granddaughter he hadn’t heard from in years
a situation that led to anxiety and tears

Taking with him an old photo
and leaving Kansas minus Toto
he flew to Havana
and arrived at a cabana
where a poolside party was going on
he asked the owner who was stifling a yawn
“Have you seen this girl?”
The man gave the roulette wheel a twirl
“She’s considerably older now!” he said.
Albion was relieved to hear she wasn’t dead.

“Do you know where she can be found?”
Albion dropped cigar ash on the ground
“At the La Luna Club downtown,”
the man gave a slight frown.

Albion raised his fedora in thanks
and made his exit by the lobster tanks
He headed to the La Luna Club
but would he find the girl, aye, there’s the rub
Carlotta was the girl’s name
like Bogey looking for a dame

He entered the club and saw a beautiful young woman in a red dress
by comparison his bourbon decorated trench coat looked a mess
He took off his coat and put it on a chair
while the bartender scratched his underwear

Carlotta was the girl in the red dress
Albion knew it was more than a guess
She was on the dance 💃🏻 floor dancing up a storm
and Albion under his shirt collar was starting to feel warm

He approached her and asked her to dance
She immediately fell into a tango stance
and together they danced the tango across the floor
and soon both were out the nightclub door

They headed back to her apartment
and on her mattress they made a major dent
Their intense lovemaking
was quite earth shaking
After the climax and in each other’s arms
came the phone call from her grandfather’s Florida farms
so Albion took a selfie
texted it to Grandpa wealthy

The angry grandfather told Albion not to bother coming home to America
otherwise he’d find himself dead in a Florida Oranges crate-ia.

So in Havana Albion did remain
so as not to turn Carlotta’s grandfather into Biblical Cain
They would often spend nights dancing the tango
and later in bed roared like Rambo.

-A poem written by Christopher
Saturday December 9th
2017

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A Private Eye’s Late Autumn Evening

November 28, 2015 at 8:54 pm (Detective story, Life, Poetry) (, , , , )

A Private Eye’s Late Autumn Evening

Silhouettes cast shadow on the wall
The light on the desk the sole light in the room
The open bottle of bourbon remains untouched
The ice in the empty glass melted hours earlier
All that bourbon in the bottle
in which was reflected the image of Carson Albion Private Eye
Would it really ease the pain of painful memories?
If it passed his lips
Those lips so often kissed by bourbon
yet rarely kissed by a woman he truly cared about
He discovered many women didn’t really care about guys who had been knocked down
by the school of hard knocks in life
They most often fell for the guys who had climbed their way to the top
no matter how many people they had stepped on and crushed to get there
And so they ended up as trophy wives
drinking from bottles themselves to cure their loneliness
since once caught, they were looked at and paid attention to as much as those animal head trophies that lined the walls of their respective mansions

Carson put the top on the bottle and put it away back in his desk
He sipped the liquid left from the melted ice in the glass
Another birthday spent alone
Five years in a row
A birthday spent alone
Was it part of some 5 year plan planned by a Politburo of cruel Fates
Whose threads formed a tapestry of Stalinesque style mercilessness?

Carson got up from his desk and walked out into the night
Lyrics from Simon and Garfunkel went through his mind
In the corner stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminder of every glove that laid him down and cut him
until he cried out in his anger and his shame
I am leaving, I am leaving
And so Carson left.

But did the fighter still remain?
Carson stood at the street corner
How much fight did he have left in him?
He headed home.
Tomorrow was always another day.

-A private eye poem
written by Christopher
Saturday November 28th
2015.

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