I departed my abode
Into a rain pitchfork
And ankled along this street
I’ve been grummy all morning
Anticipating a bee’s knees day
I verify I have at least a clam
In my kick
To pay for the java and couple of sinkers
At the local café
First I’ll ankle to the direction of
The drug Store for ciggies
My cigarette case contains none
They stock my Abracrombies
A couple of flappers pass by
As they lit up like the common wealth
It appears they’re arriving home late
Both with bobbed hairs
One woe a toque, the other a cloche
Both are a couple of live wires
I’m familiar with both
Both have copacetic stilts
I sneak a glance at each
Because I have a fetish for female stilts
Wow, I would love to message all four
Of those stilts
Farther down these travels upon the street
In front of a restaurant
A rag-a-muffin man was playing
“S’Wonderful” with a hurdy-gurdy
With a bug-eyed betty fitted with a pill box
And a dress that hung midway down her gams
Stood lending her ears to this vagabond
I could acknowledge that this face stretcher
Was a flour lover
She had on too much munitions on her face
As an iron whizzes by
Giving me the screamie meanies for a second
It almost took me off my dogs
Then before I could cross the street
Couple of buses passes by
The second had a couple in its struggle buggy spooning
It’s possible the couple may be a couple I am acquainted with
Once I arrive to the joint
To order my java and a couple of sinkers
I noticed four fellas in the distant nook
That appears to be old acquaintances
Who appears to be hoods
I could see a tomato in her evening dress
With her hair in a marcel cut
Over the bench lays an coat
A man seated with her
In a three piece striped suit
I imagine it’s her sheik
Alongside her coat was another made of camel hair
Looks as though it’s a coat
Spats were on his shoes
Upon a Victrola the tune
“When My Baby Smiles At Me” was playing
Unexpectedly couple fellas from the back
Rushed to the front and pulled a rod each
Then I noticed a group of shamuses
Had the joint surrounded
Giving it the heat
I took cover in one of the booths
I realized this woman was this cake-eater’s moll
She also pulled out a rod
Along with the big cheese
Both leapt out of the booth and started to pump metal
At least neither the hoods nor the coppers
Had typewriters
As I lay in the booth beneath the table
During this squirting of metal I ponder
If I’ll wind up on a slab
Or am I’ll be able to perform a Dillinger
Apparently they have a juice joint
In the back of this shop
Once it all came to a halt
The coppers believed me to be one of the gang
I attempted to explain
Yet they believed me to be full of hooey
All they say was “Tell it to Sweeny”
Then they gave me the business
Off to the hoosegow I go
I realized the start of this day
Has not came out Jake
And all I wanted was
A cup of java and a couple of sinkers
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem