Mark, I took it that the speaker here (in the lines not in italics) was your father, a figure who appears in other poems of yours, I think. The lines in italics describe a scene characteristic of film noir. I might have punctuated slightly differently, also using some additional italics, making three small changes of wording, and some changes of lay-out, perhaps along these lines:
“It isn’t what I’d call a picture show,
this CGI…AI… It’s all the same,
all bouncing spandex arseholes. Such a shame
they’re feeding kids this stuff. – But RKO!
A title card and off! A silhouette,
and there’s your man, but doomed you see, some double-
crossing dame, smoking, and built for trouble.
– How long’s this flick? Christ, when did they forget
how bladders work? An hour and a half’s a charm.”
Chiaroscuro blinds that hide a hood
throw shadows black as 1940s blood.
A big shot shot, you're cradled in my arms.
Cue sirens and ‘The End’. – “I’m tired now, son.
Just nudge me when these flying clowns are done.”
I hope this is useful. Nice piece…
Clive
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