Eliot Ness, where are you now?
Belts of rotgut at the bar with your pal
La Migra, it's rising star?
Will you marry the ICE queen? Talk her up?
Knock her up and out?
Where is your noble warrior's doubt?
Discretely furrowed in your brow
For a moment and only one.
Who is hiding in the drum
You chop at with an axe?
A stool pigeon who's too foul, too afraid
To speak anything other than fact?
Who do you see in the full-length mirror?
One man or many? Clearer
Pictures are drawn on the napkin by your drink.
The worst that could happen is that you might think.
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