KJ Hays

blessed are the frill seekers

the goombahs frown: the capo let the gaudy Madonna order Margaritas for the family as perry como’s “round and round” warbled out on the wind from the lone balcony speaker: the mobsters’ brows knit worry furrows.

below, the men try to enjoy the frilly fucking cocktails. the women they’re with question them. one of them wonders if hers has ever had better head: another worry. a nice smile shines wide like a shelf of ivory bound tomes on the severed head peeking out from under its perforated bowler hat at the starlight jigsaw in the night sky that’s reflected on the baggie sitting in the satchel that one of the men fidgets with to hide that nice icy smile: a third worry.

he straightens in the plush chair, smiles a nice warm smile at the wondering woman; she smiles a nice cold smile back: her worries end. two large waiters arrive and ask the men if they want the dishes taken. the man asks for the table to be cleared, save for the ridiculous beverages, and hands one waiter the suitcase: one worry less.

the other waiter takes the dishes. as the waiter with the dishes left, the men flag him down: the man who had the suitcase asks that his cane be taken up to the coats in the balcony. the waiter smiles primly, accepts the cane, and walks into Dante’s: a minor concern, that’s all.

“catch a falling star” twinkles from the balcony speaker as a waiter dangles a sharp dressed man over the rails, raises the cane like a blessed scepter, and bludgeons the man repeatedly with the cane as the blood falls down too heavy for the wind & flecks each cocktail umbrella downstairs with purpose: no worries to be had here whatsoever, friend of mine.