we stoop to light our cigarettes
in an alley sketched with silhouettes
where Jane’s heels skid in oil slicks
smeared by highbinder walking sticks
on the roof perch stoned sharpshooters
on the stoop, stonewalled prosecutors
this ain’t your average tip-a-few clipjoint
the boozehounds here are held at gunpoint
they might’ve been out of time
had not a dolly dropped a dime
seems some redhot long on the loose
holed up mugs thirstin’ for giggle juice
when they were dealing rats and mice
didn’t like the barkeep’s asking price
pulled a pistol, made the sign of the cross
and skipped right to the coup de grâce
so now we stoop to light our cigarettes
waiting to shatter those silhouettes