You must go to Joey’s and get the clams

With her short hair and her deep eyes

Italian blood

But you know that story about Joey

She sighs

If he gets cheap and doesn’t give you the fresh

Flour bread

Let him know

Crazy Donna from Cookie Box

Said

“He’s dead!”

We spent the morning chatting

In the gym

On the stationary bike

She was straight out of

The godfather

Or Sopranos

I was so much intrigued

Her stories had my mind fatigued

These stories that loom on these streets

You must take time to listen

To stories of the pre-madonna

and the truely gritty

All float above the belts

Of mouths

In New York City