Ron, still in uniform,
back from Nam,
one leg missing
in action, on crutches,
heading down the down
escalator at Port Authority,
his mind fried like green
onions, sees the two guys
coming up towards him,
calculates something isn’t
as it should be, pulls his service
revolver, and takes them
out like clay fucking pigeons,
feeling no nothing, continuing
on, stops at the bar on the first
floor for a fast one, says to himself
shit like this happens, then raps
on the counter, while he waits
for the cops to come there
and get him, as he smiles wide
and handsome, and motions
the bartender to bring him another
cold bottle of beer.
