BUTTON
Leaving the tray right where it
is, I'm going away : It's a fitting
job for the bagman, but that's
not me. The Brooks of Hazelton
will bear my story out, as if you
were some police detective sitting
on a squam. One clue at a time
to try and figure from. I left no
trace at the bank job. The man
I hit was only wounded. The
money wasn't much but the
deal was cleanly done.
-
Now, milady, I can turn poetic
over you. All of this means nothing;
just trying to make myself rich, but
for the benefit of both of us - oh
boy, that alone sounds rich. No
more for me. My father taught
me how to rob; my mother,
how to ask forgiveness.
-
One cannot err too harshly, even
as a poet. I'm looking at lines by
Yeats, his progs and writing notes
all the way - cross-outs and
slashes, muttering moments of
fights with rhyme and rhythm.
Why bother with any of that, I
ask - like robbing a bank, just do
the job and carefully head on out.
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