February 14, 2009


by John Rocco

“St. Francis didn’t run numbers,”
she says to him on the beach
on the screen in the pool in
McCarren Park, Brooklyn.
I see her say it to Harvey
the screen a splash of everything
in the sky as I open the stinking
Port-O-San. Inside the piss and
shit of everybody but outside
movies and love and $5 beers.
I piss and get out and it’s
back: big Scorsese faces
in the sky and girls and others
on the concrete
spread out like a fallen sky
and who could be watching
us later in the bar
The Turkey’s Nest
with heavy pouring St. Paddy
knocking me back in my boots
with shots fit for a king
and loser paupers like me
making a girl scream in the bar
about writing
and begging her to kiss me outside.

*John Rocco at MySpace:


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