Jack steps into a bar,
faded leather sofas
wallpaper once flocked.
“A glass of your best Shiraz, please”,
he stares into dark ruby depths,
trying to remember
how he came to be here.
A rustling in his pocket,
an embossed envelope,
he opens it
and reads the contract:
For each rival you eliminate
you shall receive
ten thousand dollars.
Jack drains his glass, stands,
cracks his knuckles,
saunters to the ATM,
ten thousand dollars
deposited today,
he flips a coin: heads.
He leaves, walks
picking his way
past silver coins of the moon
caught in oily puddles.
He wonders how the John Doe
had been his rival.
Marousia 
nice….interesting the contest now…cant wait to see where you go with this…
edit…he stars or stares?
Thank you for spotting the typo – fixed now 🙂
Noir poetry! Excellent.
The story continues 🙂
“silver coins of the moon caught in oily puddles” love that! Agree with Matt about the excellent noir quality. Give us more! Great stuff :))
It is taking on a life of its own – I am curious too to see what will demand to be unfolded next 🙂
Profoundly mysterious, eh?
Plot thickens :))
lol 🙂 very cool didn’t know you were taking to writing stories of sorts like this very much ..especially the dark edge you have give for readers .. makes me want more :))) beez
It is gathering momentum now – going its own way
Oooh, creepy. Looking forward to the next poem about Jack.