Sly Willie

poem by: Q. Ramirez
Written on May 31, 2016

Of a sudden there is a frantic knock at my door.
That very rare thump I have heard before.
Focusing slowly my ocular vision away from the tube, 
my imagination thaws, feeling less like a boob.
Steady taking my time walk I toward the door slowly twisting the knob.
Cautiously opening up to see what’s the prob.
Hesitating for an instant as the wind blows chilly.
I’m very surprised staring straight at Sly Willie.
His facie so indelible, there is no other like him.
Feeling somewhat regrettable as I see his face in the dim.
Front tooth missing, eyebrows arched, slanky-thin, standing five feet tall.
He’s not a very scary figure, gauntly-slim and rather small.
I notice immediately that brown grocery bag that he carries.
Always he totes around a bag that varies.
I stare at his bag wondering what he conceals.
Whatever it is you can be sure it is something he steals.
What in Hades can it be?
I wonder, even if I know that it is useless to me.
Last time he was here he tried to sell me some shoes.
He offered a cheap price while I asked him, whos’?
He snickered and said they were his but he needed the dime.
I looked down at his size seven than to the size nine.
This time he stashed a dress which he figured would fit my lady.
Giving me a certain look which was rather shady.
No thanks - I said, but he always insists.
His price always makes it very hard to resist.
I still say no as he begins to tell me his troubles.
His wife dying, his child sick, each moment his tragedy doubles.
Obstinate I stand, so he finally quits.
But before he leaves he pleads for four bits.
Digging into my pocket I only find two.
Gladly grabbing he accepts it and says that will do.
He promises to be back tomorrow to pay what he owes. 
I kiss good-by to what he borrows, I don’t expect him back and he knows.
Doing the same thing for the past several years I can remember.
Last time he appeared to pay a visit was last September.
This year however he took less than before.
Every time he comes I say - No more.
And I’ll guarantee next time he shows up I will put up a holler.
Not one more cent not one more dollar.
Thanking me again as he walks strutting away.
I just stand there dumb-founded with nothing to say.
Seeing him walk away makes me feel sad, 
yet at the same time seeing him still able to survive makes me glad.
This fellow probably thinks that he is very clever.
Oh well, Good luck Sly Willie, until never.

 

Tags: humor,

Add Comment


Cecilia Crasto commented:
Behind the humor, I think there lies a soft generous heart, well done.
commented:
Great poem Q. Very detailed.
Christopher Russon commented:
Lovely Excelent poem written with depth.story and poem all in one.

 

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