a racketeering Bill

a body lay still on city asphalt, blood ran

over a yellow broken line


white chalk around another stiff as a

camera flash lit up a


corner of dark,


john doe is toe tagged and shoved in

the back of an ambulance


late night thunderstorm rolls in like

a sea tide over sand


rain like silver bullets ricocheting off

a warped, aging tin roof


steam rises up off pavement, liquid

wet movement washes away blood


jane doe dragged on a cigarette, she

wasn’t after the tobacco, was


after the ash fire

to touch her lips


they were like fresh fruit, and he

knew how to eat them


she had gams that went from here

to there and back again


and she loved when he ran his hand

up them for a cop


loved the taste of her skin, breathed

in her sweat, her scent


she was his and nobody touched her,


put a guy in the morgue−paper fingered

him with his chicago typewriter;


his operation controlled the east side by

a riverfront where boats drank


dirty water,





fished for a left boot,


all watched from an old warehouse,

money was cleaned, then laundered


but, an undercover cop was hot in

pursuit, was out to get


him, didn’t care about the loot,


threw the cuffs on him during a

midnight raid, moonlight sang


and danced;


a racketeering Bill recognized the

scent, shoved her badge in


his face where stubble from a bad

shave got irritated


he tried to bolt,

she fired, sent


him to the floor, “he’ll live”


now doing a stretch at Dannemora

fifty years to life…


Copyright © 05/26/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®


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