A sad-sack loser
made himself dead,
put a slug from a niner
through the top of his head.
He couldn’t pay the vig
on a rather large loan
that he’d made at the track
from Fat Frankie Carbone.
His wife was screwing
the neighborhood priest,
and his best friend Lefty
had been recently greased.
The summer was over,
and he hated the fall,
so he splattered his brains
all over the wall.
No hired muscle shot him,
he did it himself, he fell off the shelf,
…..then everyone forgot him.


j.j. marino


Posted on February 4, 2012, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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