← v6n2, Fall 2007
Poetry · Volume 6, Number 2

In Which I Imagine Myself Into a Film Noir, Catherin Pierce

What I love is to be behind things—

opaque glass doors. Smoke

rings drifting like fog. Dark glasses

large as eclipses. Schemes.

Leave your hat on. It casts

a distinctive shadow.

All the way down

the oil-slicked alley

I can watch you

watch me.