Paying Homage to Pulp Fiction

Pulp Fiction was a literary genre popular during the first fifty years of the twentieth century. It was considered by most to be second rate writing. The term pulp came from the cheap wood fiber paper the magazines were printed on. The stories within the covers were typically sensational exploitations of crime and romance that were accompanied by equally provocative illustrations.

Many of the old black and white crime movies of the 1930's and 40's imitated the genre. They had hard nosed detectives falling for beautiful victims of crime, heroes who were plagued with a weakness or flaw; or it was some sort of unusual mystery to solve, murderers who drew a red X on their victims, a robber that mailed false clues to confuse the police.

About the Poem

I wrote the poem, Bloody Red At The Diner in the style of a pulp fiction mystery. It is in some ways a list poem, a collection of clues to for crime that's uncertain.

With Coffee You Get Conversation

Bloody Red At The Diner

She was society, not the usual half-hour break
sitting at the counter and grieving about life.
Her spaghetti strapped dress
seemed out of place.
She demanded attention
without even asking.

I was the waiter and carefully listened
to the lines of her poetry and the rhythm
of her stilettos tapping her chair.

When the cop made his appearance
he said he was familiar with this sort of dame
and began exploring the diner
and jotting down notes in his pad:

• Grilled cheese, diagonal cut.
• Coffee, stirred with a knife.
• Lipstick the color of blood, blotted
  on a twice folded napkin.

He began to ask questions and I filled in answers:

• She used a compact to look over her shoulder.
• She was waiting for trouble,
  but none ever came.
• She played the same song on the jukebox
  over and over again then started to cry
  and ran out the door.
• She didn’t leave a tip.
• Once she was gone the smell of gardenia
  lingered over the spot where she sat.

The cop said this story was all too familiar
then looked for a weapon. There was no
smoking gun or shots that were heard.
The cop closed his note pad, said
out in the boonies we would have us a lynching,
but here in the city, it's just another
cool luscious babe,
getting by with murder.

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