Member Poem

If noir people were the world
we would forever roam
the crooked nighttime streets
and brutal alleys of a city
of shifting shadows,
our own shadows
rippling across sidewalks
and the dim facades
of deserted buildings,
swelling and shrinking
behind us and before us
as we moved from one
lamppost to the next.

If noir people were the world
color would abandon us
to be superseded by
a range of shadow shades
in subtle gray distinctions,
by stark chiaroscuro contrasts
invisible to a world of color.

We would live in cheap
hotels or tenement flats,
drink our liquor straight up,
tell world-weary jokes
and crack cynical smiles
from the sides of our mouths.

If noir people were the world
death could come swiftly
and without reprieve,
-- the fast flare of a bullet,
the moonlight flash
of a knife driven home --
and our blood spilled
upon the damp pavement
would be no more
than the color of night.