there’s a boy in bronzeville
who will kiss you with no shoes on
on the long walk back from the beach
where his big cousin goes to smoke dope
where some old teamsters might be buried
where you can see that sunken ship peak out
where the sand bar drops off steep and sudden
and he’ll tell you it’s named something greek
and he’ll say it belonged to jimmy hoffa
and he’ll ask if you wanna get high
and he’ll tell you you’re gorgeous
and he’ll tell you he loves you
and whatever other little lies
pop into his half-stoned head
when you taste his liar tongue
like copper and buffalo nickels
and that, my dear friend, that is
where you will be when you realize
there’s a reason why you avoid the lake