Under Neon Lights

[Bondwriter]

UNDER NEON LIGHTS

 

I was walking back home

Warm evening

Smell of tar

An old man was limping down my building's staircase

The bag that he carried seemed a heavy burden

I even thought of a corpse he'd have to get rid of

It's my laundry he said

And sure he'd tell me where the laundromat is

Why didn't I come along in the cab he had called

His grandmother was from Orl

[Luc]

I really like this poem. Your comment that it is based on real life events makes it even more intriguing. I love writing (poetry or prose) that captures what is essentially one scene from a life. And the way you have written this makes it feel like one of those moments that don

[Bondwriter]

Thanks a lot for your in-depth analysis. The real-life events comment was a shameless marketing trick I learned at Caprine U. It was no lie, but intended to intrigue; glad it worked! The old guy in the poem claimed he was the real-life model for Rambo. He was living in the same motel turned into apartments I did in Iowa City. I found out later David Morrell, who wrote First Blood, had actually been the guy's neighbor. So there could have been some truth to his claim. But well, Rambo had turned into a pathetic flabby drunk. He actually offered to hook me up with the prostitutes he knew! I declined.

 

This whole evening at the laundromat still sticks as one of these weird, uncomfortable moments that also add a little spice to life. It was also quite different from the drunk-in-a-bar encounter a lot of us have experienced all too many times. I got stuck until the whole laundry thing was over, plus I was two or three miles away from home. The very exotic environment with the big TV, the bar, the pinball machines (this was 10 years ago); it was inspirational at least for this.

[AFriendlyFace]

What a wonderful review Luc gave! I can hardly add much to that, especially since I pretty much agreed with him on all points. Particularly:

 

I even thought of a corpse he'd have to get rid of

The meaning is clear. His laundry bag looked big and heavy enough to have really been a body. I reworked the line different ways in my head but none of them fit with the style of your poem. The line is, for want of a better way to describe it, a