Bill sat in the lounge,
stroking his cat Caesar,
and smoking
his French cigarette,
musing on the JFK fiasco
in 63, and the Agency's
possible role somewhere
down the line;
he was young then,
a greenhorn,
thought there was
a right and wrong,
just after
the Bay of Pigs thing;
his father on about
the good old American way,
just wars, hitting back
at the Mafia, unaware
they were bedfellows
at some point
on joint issues;
his mother, sweet dame,
bless her Southern
mind and kisses,
dead now,
like his old man,
thin-lipped,
cold of stare,
imagining Reds
under the bed
and everywhere;
and that young guy
he bedded in Berlin
before doing him in.
The cat purred;
smoke rose
from the cigarette;
somethings
you never forget.
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 8:39 AM UTC
Bill sat in the lounge,
stroking his cat Caesar,
and smoking
his French cigarette,
musing on the JFK fiasco
in 63, and the Agency's
possible role somewhere
down the line;
he was young then,
a greenhorn,
thought there was
a right and wrong,
just after
the Bay of Pigs thing;
his father on about
the good old American way,
just wars, hitting back
at the Mafia, unaware
they were bedfellows
at some point
on joint issues;
his mother, sweet dame,
bless her Southern
mind and kisses,
dead now,
like his old man,
thin-lipped,
cold of stare,
imagining Reds
under the bed
and everywhere;
and that young guy
he bedded in Berlin
before doing him in.
The cat purred;
smoke rose
from the cigarette;
somethings
you never forget.
An agent reflects 1998
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