The End Of Out Of The Past Poem by Jonathan Aaron

I never told you I was anything but what I am," she says.
Black and white, the sunset behind Lake Tahoe looks spectacular.
She turns and goes upstairs, his chance to light a cigarette
and dial the operator. She slips the pistol into her briefcase,
gives the bathroom a cursory final glance. Moments later,
sitting on the couch, he hands her a shot of brandy.
"Thanks", she says. "Por nada," he answers, pouring one
for himself. She says she thinks they both deserve a break. "We deserve
each other," he replies, and wings his glass into the empty fireplace.
She's unperturbed, strictly business, already in Mexico.
His sleepy expression shows he knows exactly where they're going.
Night has already covered most of the country. The airwaves
are vibrating with strains of "Sentimental Journey", "Satin Doll",
and "String of Pearls". As they get into his Chevy station wagon,
I could be five and just waking up from another nightmare.
Half the world is lying in ruins.