In December of '64,
40 years ago,
I was sitting in the Hacienda bar
on the South Side
of things
and here comes this cocker
spaniel looking
******* named
Roosevelt.

This man-man slides
in, slaps Sam Cooke on the juker,
then claps my clock with
a ******* billiards ball.
On the floor ****
tasting tooth..

It was my 33rd birthday,
but as God had-had it,
it was also Roosevelt's.
And that *******-man
had been drinking
bumpy face
and smoking jazz cigarettes
since 10 o'clock
in the morning.

Let's pause. Now. Now.
Now.
Now-you may be asking
yourself what a man like me
did to deserve this disrespect-

(Grins. Sips his drink.)