Wednesday, April 7, 2010

7/30 "Where the Heart Is" by William A. Wood

As the posh suburban home sleeps,
coiled in its cul-de-sac blanket woven from the warm wool
of White Flight mentality,
I can't help but kick myself.
It was so goddam stupid,
All of it.

A week ago, the order came through, Don approved.
The Consiglieri for the Strazziano family had payed his toll.
It was time for his river ride to the bottom,
I was to mangle the man into an example.
"Cut out his 'eart, mail it to his cock-suckin' boss,
Let 'em know we mean war..."

Mission accomplished.
Time to kick back, the heart was safely on its way,
PO Box untraceable, to Long Island.

91107 Canter Boulevard...address letter perfect,
unmarked package.

Three cups of coffee, one wire transferred six-figure sum, and a copy of the Wall Street Journal later...
It hits me.

I check the black book and the thing 44 caliber tags my brain,
perfect shot through my hind-sights.
91107 Canter Boulevard...address letter perfect,
perfectly wrong...
the right address stares from my address book,
Mailing address fuck-up, this is bad.
And I have to go play Mr. Clean the mess I made,

It took two hours of box-cutter questions until the Post Office
suit and tie splattered what I want to know onto the floor.

91107 Canter Boulevard, small suburb, fourteen miles off the mark.
Family country, family town, family neighborhood,
This one's gonna make me retire...

Home, is literally where the heart is, was, will no longer be.
The cliche is kicking in the balls, too bruised to laugh about it.

I'm waiting for the lights off invitation,
gun silenced, stockin cap pulled down.
Thank God the heart is here, unopened, addressed to no one.
I pray they stay sleeping, I don't need a family of stains on my suit,
or my conscience.

I cat burglar the box out...
the only time a faulty alarm saved anybody.

With a bad guy's heart sitting shotgun, I light a cigarette.
I belly laugh at the whole thing and drive off.
The sun rises on a family confused by a missing box and oblivious to how lucky they are.
The sun sets on the dumbest mistake I ever made.

I left my heart on somebody's door step,
praying I got it right this time.

1 comment:

  1. I love this.Maybe some massaging for smoother flow, more backstory, but very Sopranos, so I like it.