Fastbender

Fastbender

Taking a drink

under purple skies,

tipping his fedora to 

the downtown girls

with their whiskey neats 

and filtered cigarettes.

He has sharps in his pockets

and Fast Eddie by the balls,

he doesn't have to wait long

in the city streets

the concrete riot

the sing-song nightmare

the swing time Miller Lite wasteland dream.

Zippo's in a clenched fist

cigar taste what a waste

little girl under the staircase looking for

that last bag of junk mama thew out with

Little John and the bathwater,

and the ladies with all the paint

trying make that money

for new clothes.

And he sees all this

and hes in a bad place right now

with his big smile

jacking his jaw all the while

crowing like a murder

and taking it in a whale;

smooth lacquer nails

on a chalkboard of his

ugly city soul.