He had shag hair & a boutique
In the bar he told me I had too much class
To be a telephone operator & I told him
He should have been thirty in 1940:
A gangster with patent leather shoes
To shine under girl’s skirts & a mother
Who called him sonny. He should have
Crashed a club where they catered
To the smart set, disposing of
The bouncer with You spent three months
In a plaster cast the last time
You tangled with me & I should have been
The singer in tight champagne
Skin waiting for him to growl
I don’t know how to begin
This beguine but you certainly know how to
Swing those obbligatos around & we
Would fox-trot till a guy
He knew from Sing Sing cut in
& he said he loved old flicks
I should come up to his place & see
The art deco ashtrays on his shag rug
That I shouldn’t waste myself
At Bell tel but marry him
& take his business calls &
I said How many years do you get
If they give you life