The Ballad of the Queen of Diamonds and the Suicide King
He was a boy of limited fortune,
she was a girl of backstreet fame.
He found her number on a matchbook
with a plea for redemption,
they agreed on the phone
that they would change their names.
He said, “I’ll take the blame for this flight into nowhere.
I’ve got nothing to lose, call me the Suicide King.”
She wore a dress fit for the Queen of Diamonds,
though she’d sold all the stones
that once encircled her ring.
They drove a ragtop Chevy with a kicked-in headlight -
like a one-eyed Jack, they fled up 55.
The night air was singing with black rain and asphalt,
they whispered the words
and watched the wheat roll by.
She said, “I know this road, my lord,
it ends in Chicago.
All those dark streets and dreamers,
what do you hope to find?”
He said, “If dreams are like dollars
then my pockets are empty,
but if nothing else, I’ll find a good place to die.”
The Queen took a photo from her velveteen pocket,
she opened the window and gave it up to the night.
Then she kicked off her shoes
and she rolled down her stockings,
and the farmers in their windows
watched these strange birds fly.
The King threw out his wallet
and his watch and his blue robe,
his crown of gold and her dress of red.
They put the top down
and the rained washed their faces,
and they drove on in silence in respect for the dead.
