Renzo liked being a button man.
He didn’t have to worry about blending in.
He was above that. If he made a racket
in the street, no one would say anything.
He didn’t have to refrain himself
from his wants. Or his temper.
He made a little extra dealing crank
and crack, but only to the mulignons.
Not in his neighborhood.
His heart beat in his chest with pride.
He offered them his protection,
but they had to pay on time.
He was going to have to do something
about Oriana. She had latched on to him,
but she was just his cumare.
He wasn’t stringing her along.
She was supposed to know her place,
and be happy with his spare time.
His capo asked, and Renzo answered.
A strike mucking up business?
Consider it busted. Some current fashions?
Look what fell off the truck.
A “draft” for a contract? Consider it written.
And no trace of the pen afterwards.
/ / /
This poem was inspired by the many hours of The Sopranos that I have been watching of late, using words from Wordle 61 at The Sunday Whirl.
waste management business: euphemism for organized crime
button man: a made man, a wiseguy, a goodfella
mulignons: a derogatory term for Blacks, pronounced “mool in yon”
cumare: girlfriend/mistress, pronounced “coo mahd” or “goo mahd”
capo: mob boss
contract: a murder assignment