Rookie - 4 Points (Chicago, Illinois USA)

Beat It! Canal Street Lessons - Poem by STANLEY PACION

Let me comment on our Western tradition;
Money talks, all else, why it walks!
Now, in this, mine, particular scene,
Sam is key. He's the boss;
Get it, the king of the thing.

But conduct, also, counts.
Say 'Hello! Good morning, ma'am! '
Do not forget, 'Hey babe, how you doing? '

And behind this deportment, be doctrinaire.
Remember, keep matters simple.
Talk three topics in one person:

Pussy, the weather and always include
A word or two about sports,
Otherwise masculinity might open to question.

And let us say what things soever the law says,
Get an invoice,
And make sure to write it all in carbon.

Fair and square, it's hard to trick in duplicate.

I believe, was it not, Saint Simon, who teaches?
'To each according to his need, and
From each get a copy, every transaction.'

Careful with Leo; he is hooked up,
High as a kite and looking for trouble,
He may not remember
Or how he spoke one day or the other.

And Bernie, he's the intellectual type.
Figure, a perverse will,
Which easily collects oddball systems,
All kinds schemes and fast notions,
A knavery prone to ruse,
And comfortable when others feel a moral obliquity.

Don't be surprised if he pulls a scan,
Runs your torso with some sort of electromagnetic wand,
Checks and sees, whether you're wearing a wire.

With him, it's best to show that you are thinking,
Try to offer a course of action,
Good for today and having potential for tomorrow.
Bernie values clever
Far more the than actual accrual of dollars.

That basement desk with the single light bulb above it,
A hanging one-switch receptacle on a wire,
No shade, what reason to adorn it?
Send the lawsuits down the wooden, threadbare steps,
Another time's forgotten space,
To the bottom, the barely paved, beaten concrete floor.
Let them see the worn out cushion,
The damaged seat of the metal chair,
The desk at a tilt, one leg broken,
And, then, let them contemplate,
If even for a moment,
The awful empty, the cement,
The unadorned cellar's walls.
Have a laugh at process servers' expense,
What a nasty drollery Bernie had authored!

And should you go out for a drink,
Keep an eye on Bob whose favored fun,
Slip you a Mickey and laugh while you fall,
Knock your head on the barroom floor.

And Georgie, why he carries a box blade,
He might act to settle a score,
Good Lawd, what a whore!

Sell! Sell! Keep ends tight! And sell!

Today we have diamonds, tomorrow the world!

Say hey, Willie Mays, you're the greatest,
And now the world knows it!

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, December 29, 2012

Poem Edited: Monday, March 11, 2013

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