I wrote this poem so I could meet this dame that runs some kinda poetry place down in Harlem. See whatca think.

Don’t Crack Wise With Me Bub

I went into our little  racket joint  to check out these two gumshoes that were lampin’ the ladies gams and making everybody nervous, you know?,

I said, “Hey maybe if you minded your own beeswax I wouldn’t have to muscle you two mugs into takin’ a powder.

This brown shoed square grabs me by the coat and says, “We know you’re a torpedo for Bruno, we’re looking for his canary what tweets with the band here..”

I knocked his hand away like it was a fly. I looked at the bulges under their coats. “Packin’ heat in here? You flatfoots must be loco. When Bruno finds out you been snooping around here for his tomato, wham-right in your kissers.”

“You think we’re wettin’ our pleats over that two-bit scum you call boss?”  The two suits laughed together. A regular matched set of city hall flunkies. Then the one on the left says, “You and Bruno are heading for 3 hots and a cot for a ten spot in the big house, you know that doncha?”

I just smiled, so he could see my gold tooth, “How do you two coppers figure that?”

“Because,”  the one on the right said, “That skirt  ankled over to my office yesterday and squealed like a little pig. I got the goods on you both, but good.”

I pulled out a chair and turned it around backwards. I sat down and fired up a Chesterfield.

“Is zat right?” I squinted through the smoke. “Then maybe you two genius types outa get a sledge hammer and an aqua lung, cause she is wearing a Chicago overcoat in the East River.

You shouldah seen there faces!

This is my first poem and I’d say it is pretty good. I think that dame at the poetry place will read this and fall for me like a ton of bricks.

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