Gangland

    A sailor, "tatoo you,"
    the cigarette Players
    with tape-deck playing
    a jaundiced "Yellow Bird",
    Cerveza, Dos Equiis, the
    two horses, in red flame,
    across the label.

    Trolling in a deep sea-trench
    (spinners and chubb),
    the dark night
    a religious procession,
    acolyte stars in hymnal to the wind.

    Across the channel
    a Party Boat
    - the words almost demand capitals
    with actions so diminutive -
    creased laughter "to go" cross the waves
    flicker of lights, siren call
    then a lemon shark strikes the bait
    on anchor reel, Horse-Eyed Jack
    perhaps borrowing the name
    from the Outback -
    think pantomime, enter Wahoo
    and the aesthetic of fear
    crazed fish jack-knifing the boat.

    Someone produces a cheese tray,
    warm wine
    the small shark caught in a
    role reversal lies bludgeoned
    under the seat, even there
    a halo glow surrounds the eye and
    cobalt snout, but it is the grin
    that takes the edge off antics
    of the Party Boat
    some bedraggled hundred yards away
    this Death's Head cocktail,
    "What's your poison" leer
    teeth like naked light bulbs
    against tenement stairs
    protean hoodlum a millenia away.