In Naples a gang of experts
cracked our car in the glass cheek
we were lunching standing up a block away
and they knew it
scootered off with our suitcase
leaving a dabble of blood.
The fat women were all over us
we were thumped and yanked with advice good advice
no one had seen a thing.
Now thinking of them standing that suitcase
on a dinky table and counting out my underwear
Adriana’s pearls my nice plan for another farce
my blue blazer and the rest, I see these articles
looking around flabbergasted at being pawed
by queer foreigners obviously no friends of the family.
“Where’s mom and dad?” cries our property
spitting mad and scared to death.
Lousy gangsters,
are they laughing their heads off round that table?
No, this is business, they’re serious,
one of them has a date
to go dancing tonight, Mamma is waiting home
with dinner for the other two,
they’re in a hurry
and laughing their heads off.
Listen, children, listen jacket, sweater old friend, suits, shoes, pearls,
maybe there’s hope: the blood! let’s not forget
the good brown blood above the chrome
you couldn’t see because you were inside the suitcase.
Hey hey! One of the bastards may be due (pray God)
for grim convulsions witnessed by fainting nurses
maybe he’ll die corroded blue and green
from hankering after my underwear.
Yes but where’s the satisfaction
where’s the bliss
if I don’t see it blue and green
with my own two eyes
or read it on page seven under Local News?
If they wind up in a Ferrari
I’m done with this damned galaxy.