Robertson on the Lam
Here's the thing about Robertson: he's a fraud.
How are there five aces in the deck? Blame Robertson.
Robertson knows where the corpses are buried;
He keeps two sets of books, fudges columns &
Filches from the register. Everyone knows Robertson
At the bar & they humor but avoid him.
The slack air dulls the brain. Robertson doesn't mind.
He's on the train, hand on someone else's wallet
& never-you-mind if you catch his eye. He's sly
Like a wet fox cornered & ready to snarl but reserved
Just in case things swing his way. They usually do.
Robertson catches breaks like fly balls in September.
Sunday at the zoo, Robertson's at the monkey house
Making faces just to get a reaction. Drop his name
& get a private tour of holding cells where drunks
Sing his praises. Robertson out on bail is magnanimous.
He boasts, he floats, he flaunts, he parries, he spreads
Lies that make your mother blush & your sister interested.
Roberton's just that way, they say; no one can contain him.
He is multitudes. He's Walt & Williams & Ginsberg on parade
But not on stage. Here's Robertson talking shit about the
Jackass who took him for a fool at the furniture store.
Here he is running his mouth about the policeman's daughter.
That Robertson, he gets around but never over or through.
If you get a letter from Robertson, open it up right away. Dear
Pal-o-Mine, I got twenty dollars & a plan. I'm in Vegas & I'm
Betting on red. Jackie says hello. Cross your fingers for me
Old Buddy-Boy, the wheel is spinning, spinning. Drive on up
From Pasadena & say hello, we're at the Sands. Don't respond,
Don't react. Robertson's moved on. He'll reach out again.