The Love Sonnets of a Hoodlum | Page 4

like thirty cents!
VII
Mayhap you think I cinched my little job?When I made meat of Mamie's dress-suit belle.?If that's your hunch you don't know how the swell?Can put it on the plain, unfinished slob?Who lacks the kiss-me war paint of the snob?And can't make good inside a giddy shell;?Wherefore the reason I am fain to tell?The slump that caused me this melodious sob.
For when I pushed Brick Murphy to the rope?Mame manned the ambulance and dragged him in,?Massaged his lamps with fragrant drug store dope?And coughed up loops of kindergarten chin;?She sprang a come back, piped for the patrol,?Then threw a glance that tommyhawked my soul.
VIII
I sometimes think that I am not so good,?That there are foxier, warmer babes than I,?That Fate has given me the calm go-by?And my long suit is sawing mother's wood.?Then would I duck from under if I could,?Catch the hog special on the jump, and fly?To some Goat Island planned by destiny?For dubs and has-beens and that solemn brood.
But spite of bug-wheels in my cocoa tree,?The trade in lager beer is still a-humming,?A schooner can be purchased for a V?Or even grafted if you're fierce at bumming.?My finish then less clearly do I see,?For lo! I have another think a-coming.
IX
Last night I tumbled off the water cart -?It was a peacherino of a drunk;?I put the cocktail market on the punk?And tore up all the sidewalks from the start.?The package that I carried was a tart?That beat Vesuvius out for sizz and spunk,?And when they put me in my little bunk?You couldn't tell my jag and me apart.
Oh! would I were the ice man for a space,?Then might I cool this red-hot cocoanut,?Corral the jim-jam bugs that madly race?Around the eaves that from my forehead jut -?Or will a carpenter please come instead?And build a picket fence around my head?
X
As one who with his landlord stands deuce high?And blocks his board bill off with I O U's,?Touching the barkeep lightly for his booze,?Sidestepping when a creditor goes by,?Soaking his mother's watch-chain on the sly,?Haply his ticker, too, haply his shoes,?Till Mr. Johnson comes to turn him loose?And lift the mortgage from that poor cheap guy;
So am I now small change in Mamie's scorn,?A microbe's egg, or two-bits in a fog,?A first cornet that cannot toot a horn,?A Waterbury watch that's slipped a cog;?For when her make-up's twisted to a frown,?What can I but go 'way back and sit down?
XI
O scaly Mame to give me such a deal,?To hand me such a bunch when I was true!?You played me double and you knew it, too,?Nor cared a wad of gum how I would feel.?Can you not see that Murphy's handy spiel?Is cheap balloon juice of a Blarney brew,?A phonograph where all he has to do?Is give the crank a twist and let 'er reel?
Nay, love has put your optics on the bum,?To you are Murphy's gold bricks all O. K.;?His talks go down however rank they come,?For he has got you going, fairy fay.?Ah, well! In that I'm in the box with you,?For love has got poor Willie groggy, too.
XII
Life is a combination hard to buck,?A proposition difficult to beat,?E'en though you get there Zaza with both feet,?In forty flickers, it's the same hard luck,?And you are up against it nip and tuck,?Shanghaied without a steady place to eat,?Guyed by the very copper on your beat?Who lays to jug you when you run amuck.
O Life! you give Yours Truly quite a pain.?On the T square I do not like your style;?For you are playing favorites again?And you have got me handicapped a mile.?Avaunt, false Life, with all your pride and pelf:?Go take a running jump and chase yourself!
XIII
If I were smooth as eels and slick as soap,?A baked-wind expert, jolly with my clack,?Gally enough to ask my money back?Before the steerer feeds me knock-out dope,?Still might I throw a duck-fit in my hope?That I possessed a headpiece like a tack?To get my Mamie in my private sack?Ere she could flag some Handsome Hank and slope.
What ho! she bumps! My wish avails me not,?My work is coarse and Mame is onto me;?So am I never Johnny-on-the-spot?When any wooden Siwash ought to be.?Thus I get busy working up a grouch?Whenever heartless Mame harpoons me - ouch!
XIV
O mommer! wasn't Mame a looty toot?Last night when at the Rainbow Social Club?She did the bunny hug with every scrub?From Hogan's Alley to the Dutchman's Boot,?While little Willie, like a plug-eared mute,?Papered the wall and helped absorb the grub,?Played nest-egg with the benches like a dub?When hot society was easy fruit!
Am I a turnip? On the strict Q. T.,?When do my Trilbys get so ossified??Why am I minus when it's up to me?To brace my Paris Pansy for a glide??Once more my hoodoo's thrown the game and scored?A flock of zeros on my