Here Comes Tony
by Jef Otte
Here comes Tony Cecil driving his pride and liability, a
shitty sea-green DeVille amply rusty, trunk strapped shut
with a bungee, and it clatters like a diesel.
Here comes Tony Restreppo who used to run a chop-shop in
Terra-Cotta, WI. Now he socks hot sex to a Russian plus-
size model called Katja. Look at that motherfucker
chomp kalamatas. Later he jerks off to autopsy photos.
Here comes Tony Classic with a wallet made of plastic, a
plastic bag that formerly hosted a sandwich.
Here comes Tony Sellers pell-mell on shaky-wheeled ten-
speed down Alamo hill. He’s got six sweaty dollars for
pall malls & hot fries. He spots Rhonda and runs out the
store yelling and smelling the smells of going broke:
engines that run rich, cook-stink and garbage, blunt
breath, dry-rot, wet-rot, overgrowth, weeds gone to seed,
and heat. Corner store clerks behind glaciers of plate
glass. Cockroaches that bank and scoot into the dark.
Here’s Tony Bologna sweet-talking. He’s going to talk you
into growing pot in your cellar. He’s going to get
you rich quick slinging energy drinks, skin revitalizers,
dehydrated fruit rehydrators with high-rated pliable
Here comes Tony Two-Time. He’s pulling on his fingers. A
News 4 helicopter cuts across the sky.