-Oh, Lordy!-

1.

God's got the dryness of the withered hand at his mouth.

––His fingertips smell like salt & vinegar.

He’s at the snack cupboard again panting for potato chips.

No wonder he’s fat,–– 

lounging around all day with Marilyn, JFK and the oldman,––

playing penny-ante five card draw, ogling the new batch

of young women long before their natural time,

arriving at Peter's Pearlies, wiggling in their summer dresses

on their way to influence the auditions,–– and he's drinking...

what's that he's drinking...

“Ahh..champagne.–– Champagne cocktails”!

(Always wanted to use old Frank Pentangeli's line in a poem)

2.

Due to the eagerly anticipated death of perennial speaker,

fatso Dominic DeCarlo, I've been selected to address

the yearly "Frank Nitty Businessman’s Lunch"

at Club Marconi's annex downtown to benefit unpublished poets

and other displaced derelicts week after next.

3.

Oh, Lordy!

It's later than I think.–– “Cicci! la porta”!