The gutter boss throws a stiff command,
“Gimme a smoke tramps,
watch your eyes or cops will yank your neck.”
He laughed without humor, “Ever have your neck yanked?”
Hector and Homer plunged into a silent place.
A place they knew gutter boss couldn’t go,
His mind quite incapable of logic, he continued,
“I wanna smoke.”
“No smoke today Frankie boy,”
the man in blue jingled metal handcuff,
his eyes bored holes into Frankie’s.
“Wanna go down to the concrete well?”
Frankie slid down the greasy brick wall,
fighting the urge to scream.
The handcuffs whispered, “We’ll yank your neck.
Let’s go to the concrete well and yank your neck.”