PERSONS

                        for Paul Violi

Simon, he says

without blinking

direct address from the side

of his mouth

we’re going someplace

where cats aren’t allowed

to walk on the bar with impunity

the night sky is purple not black

heading south on Sixth Ave

he lights a smoke

because it’s time to

we should drive more

write less

seek commination whenever possible

I don’t have the stomach for poems

after all it’s work

that makes us human

the hostess at Del’s bar

frowns at us

Paul says, it’s OK, we’re not cops