Vignette Noir

You walked through the steam in a tight black dress
and boarded the Pullman car.

A shrill European whistle
gave the locomotive its raison d’etre.

Outside the station,
a streetlamp made slanting lines of rain visible

as far as the covered newsstand.
Tightening my trench coat, I haled a cab,

opening the back door
as the fin-like curb-splash

washed over the gray sidewalk.
At the apartment, I drank cheap scotch

and listened to Mahler’s last symphony
before sleeping on the mattress

where we had both created
the sag.