Sunday, June 9, 2013

Uncle Johnny


Uncle Johnny

My dad and I observed him
taking prisoners
at Joan McGrover’s wedding
in the hotel suite.

From our corner, drinks in hand,
solitary companions,
we watched him work the room
in mute dismay.

Uncle Johnny to me,
four flusher to my dad,
he glad-handed all --
beguiling his prey.

Pumping hands, flashing teeth,
he moved from clique to clan
flattering the flappable
goosing the glib with gab

working every angle
tweaking each detail
for a sure thing, easy money
his tongue silver, never still.

He was always on
and folks were always fooled.
“Just look at him,” I said.
“What a piece of work,” my dad replied.


© April 2009 Barbara Moore
Here and Now