Monday, February 2, 2009

Pulp Poem of the Week



He had greased black hair
parted in the middle
and a wax mustache;
wasn't tall and wasn't short;
and looked more like
his mother's side of the family,
but he didn't want anyone
to forget his father.
I made a bet with myself that
his parents never made it legal.

Earl Norman
Kill Me in Tokyo
1958

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