I saw it in his grinning face, festooned with blotches. Irish salmon spores waiting to hatch pearls of wealth. A large boy in a chef's coat and hat. Fitting like a clean white shroud. Wanting to belong - to be 'THE MAN'. Buying beer and shooters over a table spilt with dreams. His claim to fame - a 'secret' recipe. Ingedients of his battered innocence.
I saw you last ten years asgo. Covered in glistening snow. Sparkling crystals, laughing orange in your hair. Waving from a yellow taxicab, as if you were a royal Celtic lord. Bidding his coachman on.
I read it between the headlines; yesterday's newspaper revealed your end. No secret anymore. Thirteen seperate bullets pumped into your grinning pinkness. A drug-deal for "big bucks" as you used to say, gone bad as week old fish. No more 'special' batter. I will always remember LENNY, just laughing.