A spiked Karaoke
Who wears the countenance of a novice, Walks with the grace of a monk, Fiddles the violin sparingly slow One, petting a small fluffy poodle Thinks quick like an archer but Has a heart of an assassin. The five adjusting their brimmed brown hats Dark shades, golden necklaces Crossed the road Glistening diamond wrist watches Briskly past the bouncers Tight jean trousers for their sausage-thighs At Club Lappex Bulky, leather slide-in boots From our balcony corner Tipping, tapping, tripping at the table Sipping our cock-tail Sliding a crisp currency note for the call girl We saw them toast, scan, spiked For the whiskey glasses, in whispers Often caressing the guns tucked Slouching on the white resin club coaches In their belts, under well-polished Leather jackets, amplified Singing a karaoke three octaves deeper. Racing hearts, we felt dispossessed... Had veiled their smile in the Our venture nearly robbed