Hey boy, I want this suit cleaned,
pressed and delivered back to me by
Tall, dark and handsome,
with slicked back, jet black hair,
a scar between his lower lip and
chin, made him look fearsome.
You see this guy was one of our
frequent customers, who dropped
off their cleaning at our shop that
leaned lazily against their spot,
the El Morocco club.
A place familiar to me as a boy,
my old man took me there, while
he hung out in the back with other
stylish dressers with tipped fedoras,
pinned striped suits, silk ties, and
patent leather shoes.
This day this boy would find inside
the muscles pocket, an ivory studded
switch blade, he pocketed, and hid for
He loved the pressure it sprung when
pressing its button, to spring release
the four inch two sided blade, with blood
stains on its edges.
Daydreaming he kept wondering
how many it had penetrated, twisted
inners, bled, and finally died from
cold steel forced by his muscle
behind the blade who watched
The excitement generated an interest,
was it used in self-defense, or was he
simply a butcher of men, a prop used
when needed, and the order given to
Maybe a snitch, a cheater, or another
killer like him, when tested would draw
you in, then slide this blade deep and
bloody, without a sign of mercy, while
showing his visible scar faced lip, that
sneered at you with a final twist.
The boy stopped daydreaming when
a shout rang out from the boss man,
Mr. Spot the shop owner, hey boy,
delivery for you, let’s go, he’s waiting
for his cleaning.
Who? Oh, the El Morocco slick haired
muscle, let’s name him Tony Hustle with
the awful scar between his lower lip and
Tony opened his door and invited me in,
black and burgundy were his condo colors,
paintings of Italy hung from a latticed vine
wall in his hall. The smell
of stale whiskey, cigars and sex
swirled up my nostrils, inviting me in.
Hey boy, what did you find; when
I dropped my silk suit off to you at nine?
Did you enjoy it, was it balanced in your hand
Or dream about how you could slide it back
and forth with the simple switch of a finger tip?
How much do I owe you for the cleaning?
Don’t be afraid, I was a boy just like you,
who found and kept, and stole into the night.
Keep it as my gift to you and here is a tip,
$10 for your curiosity.
Now go, and keep it hidden, remembering
it was given as a token, and a code of
honor that only we are held to keep secret
among us and never spoken.
So when you’re a man and fully understand,
come join us for a drink or two, and turn
over that switch for a kiss on both cheeks
down at the El Morocco where real men
play for keeps.
© Copyright Vincent Moore 2014. All Rights Reserved.