One day

Peter and I

Plotted a con game.

I would lure a rich man somewhere

With the promise of romance, but before anything could happen

Peter would discover us and make a scene

Until the unlucky target forked over cash.

That night we took the subway to the West Village

I went into a fancy bar, all mahogany and brass

Having never set foot in such an establishment before.

I sat down

Lit up an aromatic Gaulois and

Smiled at my reflection in the mirror.

I looked sophisticated.

In a very few minutes

A plump man with long sideburns and horn rimmed glasses said hello

I am a writer, he said, name is Seymour. I am

A friend of Kerouac and Ginsberg.

I was impressed

In spite of myself

After a few drinks

Seymour invited me to his apartment

Up the street and

Peter sneaked behind us.

Once inside

Seymour poured a glass of wine and tried to kiss me just as

Peter hammered loudly on the door.

Seymour opened up and Peter

Stormed in.

He shouted that Seymour was stealing his wife and

Threatened lawsuits and police.

Seymour didn’t seem intimidated

But he took out his wallet anyway and

Handed Peter a twenty dollar bill

After which he escorted us out.

We never did repeat the con because

Although it was amusing

It was an awful lot of work for not

Very much money.