on the corner
two middle aged
italians stand
like relics
in gold chains
and sunglasses
looking for their lost glory
in a hail
of cigarette smoke
when i pass them
they puff out their chests
and grab their nuts
laughing
i cross the street
walk another block
before looking back
to wave
at the two italian gents
still glaring at me
they look so tough
on a late monday morning
like one of them
put a horse’s head
in someone’s bed
or there was a
sylvester stallone marathon
on television last night.
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