here’s how I see it

from my Uncle Octavio’s wake

with the stench of floral perfumes

wafting into the nostrils of those in attendance

with the Grim Reaper, the omnipotent determinator

holding court with his rusty blood-centered scythe

like a conqueror,–– like Napoleon before his fall

at Waterville, or Water View Heights, or whatever it was,–– 

to the smirking shit-head holding a queen-high straight

before a jack-high flush hits the table diluting his pride,

to the incomparable Maria Bonasera as I drove her around town

to all her places of interest without payback, playing me for a sucker,

and in my oldman’s slightly used Pontiac Chieftain for chrissakes!

and that’s how I see it.