Can we still believe in Lauren Bacall?

There are rules in this world

that make me feel safe

seamed stockings

slide into stilettos

crisp white shirts curve

and hips sway in pencil skirts

full mouths glisten red

snap wisecracks

caught by sidelong glances

and men in hats

clocks tick heavy

in honey wooded waiting rooms

black telephones ring

heavy with portent

cigarettes tap ash

a steady rhythm through each day

tough women with taut eyes

love cruel mouthed men

brill cream keeps lust in place

coffee is black

martinis sit on serviettes

phone numbers are scrawled

on backs of matchbooks

and when insomnia strikes

shots of Scotch

plot a course through the night

there are answers in the morning

they may not be the ones you want

but a well fitting coat

will see you safely onto the next train

I know things are well

when Lauren Bacall is in the frame

reluctant to leave the certainty of celluloid

and return to the chaos of life in real time

my eyes linger as the screen flickers

and slowly fades to noir

This poem was recently part of the 2010 Poetry in Film Festival, as a joint initiative between Palace Cinemas and the Australian Poetry Centre.