“Whistling” Vinnie was missing a tooth,
which had given him all the charm
of a rotten Jack O’Lantern.
He wore a gaudy little pinky ring
that he flashed like some big shot,
although he was not.
His old Cadillac was rather garish,
hardly lavish and looked
like some battered vessel
dredged off the ocean floor after the war.
His dwelling was a lousy four-bit flat
with cantankerous radiators that clanked
and clunked throughout the night.
Vincent had been blacklisted
from all really great joints in town.
He’d frown and proclaim,
“That blacklist ain’t worth the paper
it’s printed on!” Neither were the bogus bills
he passed around the clubs. But here’s the rub!
Sadly, Vinnie’s now gone. Unceremoniously dumped.
He got sacked. He was whacked.
You would think he wouldn’t have blinked!
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016