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.
Seymour poured a glass of wine and tried to kiss me just as
Peter hammered loudly on the door.
Seymour opened up and Peter
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.