Smokeasy

Shave-and-a-haircut
-two-bits.
A slitty eye appears
at the judas hole.
'Jake sent me” will
get you in, sure.
That and a sawbuck.
The barkeep, filter glued
to a pouter's lower lip
says, 'Waddallitbe?'
I tell him and
he laughs like he
knows I didn't come in
for a drink anyhow.
A glass of red,
as red as my eyes
in the smoke.
Dim lights – nicotine-haloed -
illuminate the usual prospects.
Jake's is no wine bar
and a cocktail is
a whiskey soda, pal.
The brightest thing on view
is the lipstick.
A cop comes in for
a tobacco hit
and raises a cheery
nightstick to the regulars.
The scratch of a match
on the only book
you'll find this far
downtown'll
light-up a second
of your future.
A Lucky Strike
or a Camel
will do and I ask
Rita for a cigarette
from her leatherette
purse.

She only has Marlboro.