Big things. Karma.

Fantastic, surreptitious baby
you can’t con a con man 
but he can be seduced, 
like the thin black handle of
telephone cord, garrotte,
fine instruments for blunt asphyxiation. 

He dropped the axe on me, I forgot––
I was in and out of his office in a heartbeat,
Then it was clear who was paid
and who was bought.

We make up for lost time
when we are too old to use it, 
he thought. Big things. Karma.

Tied his shoes in the parking lot,
the smell of old oil and puddles.
The window rolled down to a crack 
of cigarette spreading ashes.