It Came to Him in a Dream

“It came to him in a dream!”

The urgent, rumbling voice intones,

architectural letters scroll the screen—

          Beckon the Night.

This gift of Morpheus

sticking, as almost nothing ever does,

when brought bolt upright

by an insistent alarm.

I’ll need a double shot

of Dashiell Hammett for this,

pulled from the second desk draw

next to the snub nose

poured into a greasy tumbler.

And a dame, gotta have a dame,

ash blonde and weeping

wreathed in Herbert Tareyton garlands.

A snap brim hat and trench coat,

’41 Ford Coupe headlights

to glimmer on wet pavement,

a bluesy cornet riff.

What else ya’ gonna do with

          Beckon  the Night?

Write a goddam fairy tale?

—Patrick Murfin