not my word juxtaposition,
pleased to still from the
opinion pages of the esteemed
well street journal, on that street
where I plied, played lost some,
won more over the inevitable
longer run

but the phrase oozed familiarity,
we all know the type, the next door
neighbor who stink of shredded
shrewdness under the black slapping
red faced nose a poking, the insurance
salesman who won’t sell u what you
want/need, but the higher premium
is just what you’re looking for, just
sign here

thank god i always wrote poetry so
could not compose with those stains
on my holy souly that would have
****** me to failure as a speculator

no, kept my counsel closed, my enemies
closer, and thank god made through that
thirty year stretch left me with many bad
habits, lying was not one of them, but,
just, don’t ask me for my true name,
and the only liquid I’ll proffer is clean
bottled water