Pulp Poem of the Week

Out of food,
out of liquor,
even out of coffee.

          Lionel White
          The Snatchers
          1953

Pulp Poem of the Week

“In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michael Angelo.”
Does that suggest anything to you, sir?

Yeah—it suggests to me that
the guy didn’t know very much about women.

          Raymond Chandler
          The Long Goodbye
          1953 

Pulp Poem of the Week

He coiled a forearm
far back of his own shoulder,
swung rabidly with it,
caught the bodyguard flat-handed
on the side of the face
with a sound like wet linen
being pounded on a clothesline.

          Cornell Woolrich
          Hotel Room
          1958

Pulp Poem of the Week

It is is not
necessary to know
what a person is a afraid of.
It is
enough to know
the person is afraid.

          Lawrence Block
          The Sins of the Fathers
          1976