Pilgrims 4: Cookie (A Fragment)
‘Hey, Georgie. Pleased ta meat ya’
Cookie gives a smile behind his hand.
Cookie is the youngest guy,
ain’t been at the tavern long
thinks he’s short order
he’s a bus boy that’s it
answers to Cookie
but he don’t get it.
‘Cookie you cookin up a tale?
Better cook it better
than the last egg over easy
that ran off the platter
afore we left.’
Reckon Harry Bailey knows the South Walk
don’t need Cookie. Fact is his sister-in-law
said ‘take that pipsqueak fart of a busboy now,
- won’t be here when ya gets back anyhow.’
Cookie said ‘I might be at that,
Guy had them eggs said his beer was flat.’
Cookie 'uz speakin a little loud,
in a voice that said maybe ten beers down.
He leans on the backa the
seat in front - better
hang on 'case the bus hits
a bump and shatters
'I got a bar owner story here,
a story 'bout girls and beer.
not about romance and who ta marry;
maybe you'll reckanize someone Harry.'
from the body shop
and the girls drop
their lashes when he goes by.
He lurves those girls
from the nail salon,
full curved chicas
they love macho
and they look at him sly.
He’s a love’em and love’em
ain’t choosy - not every day
an’ if a gal looks a certain way
he’ll give her his own look
an' no time later
He ain’t happy at the body shop,
it ain’t the job, he swears it’s not.
The place for girls is coon-dark bars,
down at the shop ain’t nothin’ but cars.
Ya guessed it , Paco’s always bunkin’ off,
but he takes the guys along to the trough.
The Jefe ain’t mor'n a little mad;
but he catch up with Paco it’ll be bad.
from the body shop
and ready to stop
Rebeldes from spoilin the whole damn barrel.
In the Rinky Dink,
a bam-alam bar,
girls on the poles
squirmin for dollars
Rebeldes is stuffin’ in their apparel.
‘You’re fired Rebeldes, and don’t come back
shut your mouth and don’t crack wise
these boys had enough of your pachuco ways
here’s ten dollars for the last ten days.’
'Jefe, I’m half-way to gettin’ injun drunk,
don’t need your shop it’s just podunk
mommas boys playin’ with their cars,
I gotta taste for whisky and cigars.'
'A girl called Conchita
pays all my rent
guys pay her plenty
to see her stuff
in doorways,alleys and automobiles...'
Poor old Cookie
don’t ride the bump
head hits the roof
with a helluva whump.
Harry Bailey says ‘there’s a thing,
we won’t hear that Cookie bird sing;
out cold, snorin’ from Miller Lite,
ain’t never finished nothin’ in his life.