Gangland

A sailor, "tatoo you,"         the cigarette Players         with tape-deck playing         a jaundiced "Yellow Bird",         Cerveza, Dos Equiis, the         two horses, in red flame,         across the label.         Trolling in a deep sea-trench         (spinners and chubb),         the dark night         a religious procession,         acolyte stars in hymnal to the wind.         Across the channel         a Party Boat          - the words almost demand capitals         with actions so diminutive -         creased laughter "to go" cross the waves         flicker of lights, siren call         then a lemon shark strikes the bait         on anchor reel, Horse-Eyed Jack         perhaps borrowing the name         from the Outback -         think pantomime, enter Wahoo         and the aesthetic of fear         crazed fish jack-knifing the boat.         Someone produces a cheese tray,         warm wine         the small shark caught in a         role reversal lies bludgeoned         under the seat, even there         a halo glow surrounds the eye and         cobalt snout, but it is the grin         that takes the edge off antics         of the Party Boat         some bedraggled hundred yards away         this Death's Head cocktail,         "What's your poison" leer         teeth like naked light bulbs         against tenement stairs         protean hoodlum a millenia away.