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Kevin S. Hart

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Member Since: Nov, 2003

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Cafe Americain
by Kevin S. Hart

Monday, March 22, 2004
Rated "PG" by the Author.
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           >> View all 144

I always wondered what Rick was thinking... My take on Casablanca, afterwards.

Café Americain


On a day made to order by some Hollywood director
Wander through marketplace milling with life’s sweating
Memories: baguettes with black coffee outside Belle Aurore,
Waiting till dark to ponder what went wrong that one day in


Seemed everything was plus perfect, especially face to face.
Could even laugh at dark rumors of war, with a shrug, quick
Cannon fire, then all fell apart, somehow ended up alone in
this place,
The very end of the world, cradling cheap scotch whiskey
for comfort.


Running as far ahead as possible, yet always searching
Thought about staying in Marseilles, just in case she was
But damning past ensured no future if caught, didn’t dare,
Paid passage to Algiers, jumped a train, crossed desert to


Spends entire days smoking in bed, reluctant to endure
endless nights,
Behind Gauloise, stoic mask ever-scanning, as roulette wheel
Watches desperate faces gamble lives, yet they never
remember this:
It’s the house’s game; doesn’t matter who plays, because
nobody wins.


Drinking to forget those good times in Paris, all the stinking
gin joints since,
Forever whispers, sweet perfume, short lifetime of
heartbeats shared as one,
Maybe should’ve asked more questions, but never did, as time
went by,
Now have to wage lost battles with touches of love come


Club’s lights down, sits in the dark, contemplating by
cigarette’s glow,

Didn’t really didn’t want her to get on that plane, say
But no room for gray in a black and white world, was no
other choice,
Drops cold ash on scarred table, pours from the bottle, lets
out one more sigh.

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Reviewed by Jim Dunlap 3/27/2004
Very interesting and intriguing write. I've never seen the movie, so I am sure someone who has would really like this even more.

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