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This review is from Zvi A. Sesling, a member of Somerville’s Bagel Bards. He reviews a new poetry collection by local poet Michael McInnis.

Smokey of the Migraines
by Michael McInnis
Nixes Mate Books
Allston, MA
ISBN 978-0-9993971-2-1
Softbound, 42 pages, $9.95

Review by Zvi A. Sesling

Noir poetry, think Whitey Bulger on the loose, or Mickey Spillane turning to verse and you have just the beginning of Michael McInnis’ page turning poetic endeavor Smokey of the Migraines.

There are a few things you need to know about McInnis’ 43 page-long book. First, it is a single poem. Second, it is written as if incorporated into the movie Black Mass based on the book of the same name by Dick Lehr and Gerard O’Neill, a pair of Boston reporters who followed in the footsteps of two other legendary Boston newspaper men, Harold Banks and Ed Corsetti. Later, they would write true crime stories for various national magazines. Third, McInnis’ style in this book is fast-paced, almost as if someone added a bump stock to his keyboard. Fourth, there is a cliché that goes “It was so good I couldn’t put it down.” Well, it certainly applies to Smokey of the Migraines.

This poem-story minces no words, be it McInnis’ extensive vocabulary, or the profanity which is liberally spread through the book. But the best part of the book is the rat-a-tat-tat staccato of the writing:

The migraine takes

Smokey outside

his body

where he exists

far from

the reach

of life,

of love,

beyond the polished

black metal of the

Glock 9 he shoves

in Sully’s mouth,

chipping a tooth

The rest gets more interesting as Smokey’s thoughts are expanded upon and the migraines become as important and crucial as Smokey himself.

Now throw in some time traveling science fiction:

Smokey don’t notice

he’s lost in the migraine,

time traveling,

to Dealey Plaza

where the sun never sets

for the kind, returned,

for the king

sacrificed,

for the king

kissing

his boots,

the Book Depository

a new capitol,

and the hundred years

between two

kings and the letters

of their names,

the mountain ranges,

latitudes and

assassins,

Sic semper tyrannis!

There are visits to Marat’s bath, Trotsky’s home, to Constantinople, Ojinaga, Shiloh and encounters with Pancho Villa, Mary Shelley, Leif Erickson and many more. This is reminiscent of Evan Connell’s Notes From A Bottle Found on the Beach at Carmel in which history and location become intertwined.

Then again like Dashiell Hammett.

The migraine

is a 9 mm

under Smokey’s

pillow.

The migraine

is the guts

of a burner

phone on the floor.

The migraine

is a whiskey bottle

on the nightstand.

The migraine

is a dream,

a nightmare

become

blackness

This book, this poem, unlike a good Thanksgiving dinner that is slow to savor, proves to be a fast meal, one you want to take in quickly and enjoy all the way down.

If you enjoy the noir, the criminal element, street language and a great story, this is the book for you. You won’t even realize you are reading poetry.