late one night

the swede got off work at the factory and came home and found his mail order bride dead drunk on the floor. an old wallet was on the table and the swede thought it belonged to the polack. he went out and went down to the beer hall. the irishman said the polack had not been around all that night. the swede went over to ikey rosen’s pawn shop and bought a knife with five blades. next he went over to the laundry but the chinaman had not seen the polack either. the chinaman told the swede to go home and sleep it off. later the chinaman told the oft told tale to sheriff joe black. look very bad, the chinaman said. the swede will be all right the sheriff told him, it’s not like he’s some hotheaded dago who is going to get all excited and go loco. the sheriff went outside and looked down the street. colonel porter’s filipino houseboy snd a couple of negroes were shooting craps in front of miss wilson’s dress shop which was closed for the night. a cloud passed over the moon. the sheriff almost stepped on a black cat and it ran away, spitting fire and rain

last call

long away and far away life was a brand new broadway play folks looked rich but were really broke did nothing all day but drink and smoke style and class were tattered dreams not yet awakened from or so it seems no one entered without knocking a few things were still considered shocking peyton crull was the last of his race he had a drink in his hand and a scar on his face his life had been a total waste he was reputed to have peculiar tastes every afternoon at five peyton almost came alive he switched from gin to whiskey and his eyes grew misty the fire in his brain burned low as he thought of days of long ago but he had other thoughts as well on which he would occasionally dwell he dreamed of a future bright in which everything would be all right a happy day to come in which he would not be a bum in which one happy human race with a single smile on its happy face would hold him in its warm embrace… the fantasy faded, leaving no trace caught like a fly between two spiders trampled on by the other riders on the nostalgia-future train peyton lifted his glass again and drank to those who came before and those still wandering on the shore and those on the horizon dim marching with glittering eyes toward him he drank to the damned and the elect and those who showed him no respect yes, those were the worst of all… did he hear a footstep in the hall?

up on the hill

there once was a guy named bill he had a mule and a dog and lived on a hill the mule wore a hat made in spain and the dog had an old tin can for a brain the dog’s name was frankie lee what else would it be? the mule was called sleepytime joe he always went with the flow they did not get many visitors revenue men or spanish inquisitors an occasional lightning bolt would give them a nudge or a jolt trees grew on the hill the way trees will birds lived in the branches and took their chances snakes crawled on the ground some bigger than others and bears and possums avoided them if they had their druthers one day bill got a postcard from a lawyer in the town and terrible things transpired but nobody wrote them down bill and joe and frankie lee are no longer to be found but a portion of their old black stove still sticks up from the ground