“Don’t put on any airs
When you’re down on Rue Morgue Avenue….”
If they had a name these guys
would be called, The Dead Before
Death Gang. All of them aging
badly, an average of two ex-wives,
three point one kids. All of them on
probation, or just off for no support
paid, driving without, driving under
the influence of, the whole nine yards.
All of them thought they could have
been contenders, would have made
the team if it weren’t, could have had
that job but, would have married the
girl they really loved if only.
All of them living fill in the blanks
lives, lists of if onlys like posted
legal notices in newspapers, their
lives foreclosed long before the fat
lady sang, the time clock expired,
the summons was handed over.
All of them knew every process
serving trick in the book, had even
invented a few themselves when they
were on the hook for a job and nothing
else was available. Washing dishes was
for wetbacks and they weren’t going there
no matter how bad it got, could never
be that desperate. The stuff they wouldn’t
do, hated worse than their lives, could
fill volumes, Buy them a shot and a beer
and they’ll be glad to recite the whole list.