Grace hit the city, ready for roses.
She\u2019d seen all the films; knew all the poses.
Without fear of traps or any entanglement,
She came for the glitter, and maybe a gentleman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Small towns and small people had all had their day,
Now there was nothing to stand in her way.
With a slinky black dress and open toed shoeses,
She put on a smile and practiced her ruses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At a posh corner bar, brass and mahogany,
Lousy with lawyers, bored with monogamy,
She stationed herself at a small corner table,
Playing her part in this little fable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tony\u2019s not one you\u2019d take for a sucker.
Streetwise and charming, almost a huckster,
He knew what he wanted, and just how to get it;
There wasn\u2019t much he\u2019d ever regretted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
From out on the street, he glimpsed her within –
Beautiful hair, exquisite skin.
Changing his plans, he walked on inside,
And up to the bar without breaking his stride.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Louie the barman was there at the ready.
They were old friends, come up in the city.
Scotch on the rocks, Tony\u2019s regular drink,
Slid \u2019cross the bar with a welcoming wink.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWho\u2019s that over there?\u201d Tony asked his old friend.
Lou chuckled a bit before he began,
\u201cDon\u2019t have a clue; she looks mighty classy,
I hope you\u2019re not thinking of trying that lassie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo disrespect Lou, but what do you know?\u201d
Tony replied while he pulled out his dough.
Heading for Grace after paying his bill,
Tony swooped in, like a hawk to the kill.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Swirling his ice cubes, he coolly sat down,
Playing his part like some man of renown,
While our lady Grace tried not to reveal
Whether her interest was feigned or for real.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Bright conversation was one of his charms,
But something about him set off alarms.
Tony\u2019s not one to hide what he felt,
But Grace never showed the cards that she held.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tony\u2019s smooth banter assailed her gates,
But nothing impressed our cool lady Grace.
She\u2019d seen this scene in movies at home.
Tony soon knew he was leaving alone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But Grace knew this hustler might help her to find
The highlife and city seen in her mind.
So she coyly suggested touring the park
Next Saturday, sometime well before dark.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They met in the park, come Saturday noon,
Strolled past the boathouse and on to the zoo.
Cool as her ice cream, she asked him point blank,
\u201cJust how much cash have you got in the bank?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHold on girl,\u201d he said, \u201cJust what do you mean?
I\u2019m here for fun, not the \u2019merican dream.\u201d
\u201cThat\u2019s what I thought,\u201d she replied in a snit,
\u201cI\u2019ve got places to go and a big life to live.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Taken aback, he paused to consider,
While Grace explained the thought that had hit her.
\u201cHow about if we just work together,
So in the end we each get what we\u2019re after?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTony you\u2019re cute, but you can be a jerk.
And that\u2019s what I need, if this thing\u2019s to work,
\u2018Cause the Belmont Stakes are on for next week,
And that\u2019s where I\u2019ll find the people I seek.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHigh rollers and big money all will be there.
We will be too, as a quarreling pair.\u201d
Grace laid out her plan, she had it all set,
She even promised she\u2019d pay Tony to bet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
So Saturday came; they went to the race.
Lines were rehearsed, and things were in place.
Tony placed bets and was playing his part –
A gambler breaking his poor lover\u2019s heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Just for the yuppies standing beside them,
Grace added more to this scene of mayhem.
\u201cYou\u2019re wasting our savings,\u201d she wailed aloud;
\u201cWhat will I tell Grandma?\u201d she cried for the crowd.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tony then cursed and pushed her down roughly.
She fell to her knees while he turned abruptly.
Deaf to her cries, he stomped away madly.
The yuppies all gasped as she whimpered sadly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Quick as a flash, Rex was there with a hand
Helping poor Grace to a wobbling stand.
\u201cForget that crude bastard,\u201d kindly said he
While offering her his initialed hankie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
With tears in her eyes, she stifled her smiles,
Seeing the payoff from all of her wiles.
\u201cWhat will I do now? I\u2019m so all alone.
I\u2019ve nowhere to go,\u201d she pitifully moaned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Later, by months, while out from the loft,
Where living with Rexxie is boring but soft,
Grace finds herself outside Lou\u2019s corner bar
So inside she goes, to check her co-star.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lou\u2019s tending bar and recalls her quite well,
Says \u201cTony\u2019s in Rome, he\u2019s doing just swell.
He told me about your thing at the track,
But he\u2019s never said just when he\u2019ll be back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe didn\u2019t tell you; one ticket you bought,
A trifecta pick, oh boy was it hot!
He travels a lot now, with bucks in the bank.
Says in his postcards \u2018It\u2019s you he should thank.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The point of this ditty is whether our Grace
Picked the wrong horse when she went to the race.
Sometimes we get all the things we go after,
But then in the background, all we hear is laughter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Grace hit the city, ready for roses.She\u2019d seen all the films; knew all the poses.Without fear of traps or any entanglement,She came for the glitter, and maybe a gentleman. Small towns and small people had all had their day,Now there was nothing to stand in her way.With a slinky black dress and open toed shoeses,She … Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3187","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pa867U-Pp","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3187","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3187"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3187\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3188,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3187\/revisions\/3188"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3187"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3187"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/ruescribe\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3187"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
Jack Wallick is a retired engineer, tech writer, and microbiologist. He started writing poetry forty some years ago and today writes in a wide variety of formats – traditional rhyming and metric poetry, memoirs from his time as a draftee in Vietnam, fiction, and essay. Up to this point he is unpublished, likely the result of not being an MFA from an expensive midwestern liberal arts school.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"