Harry is from Cincinnati a failed Jack of all
Jill grew up in Amarillo
dish water blonde with cheap expensive tastes
Harry’s folks were working class
dad the pool hall alcoholic
mom hid hers in the laundry shed
back then Harry said we lived barely enough
by Sugar Hill between the parks
my paw a union man scraping for our meals
Jill watched his lips as the story wore
she’d look at me and snarl a bit
Harry said it’s a genetic tic
i puffed away on bidis and cloves
Jill kept her pain and her hatred deep in her soul
offering a place to stay to rest her bruised head
Harry spoke up and said ‘we ok’
her eyes caught the rat scampering across
the laundry she washed in the back of the lot
Jill turned away from our talk
Harry said Jill and i we’ll go for a walk
come again  tomorrow and i’ll reconsider your deal
but right now she’s got to deliver
i know it’s not right so don’t judge me bad
if she don’t like the life i give her
Jill is free to depart anytime
this is who we are
it’s not very much
Jill looked to the west stretching her arms
reaching out toward the brick wall
pulled out her pipe and started to smoke
Harry looked down with shame in his eyes
my clipboard is packed i’ve nothing to speak