menace enters in

Mr. infinite malevolent 
tall, crooked dude 
rolled gracefully 
swank
into a dockside
dive. He looked
narrowly 'round. 

He could easily kill 

all here. The naïve
bartender still dreaming 
of Ezra Pound, or the 

sailor, who's probably 
wise and kind, sat next
to the wanton highway man, 
that rogue, sat next to the whore 

in his business attire. 

A perfect imperfect sampling 
of men.

But then came the fire 

His vile eyes caught hard 

on her. Wholesome 

in parts and whole 
and sum, and
probably hole
and heart, 
and all.
It was like 
he had swallowed his gum. 

Her simple 
sweet good girl 
act was a tease
which was true,
all through from top
to bum, and her outfit 
said nothing at all
on that score.

One of those
thrift store 
quirky jobs, but damn
well-done. 

Mr. crooked tall dude 
bowed sheepishly. 

He couldn't kill the place 
full of all these slobs
with her around! 

And he suddenly knew
he was not so infinite 
malevolent, now.

In fact 

he felt no malevolence 
at all! His whole damn life, 
was it just some passing

mood

he'd been? 

If so, who
was now responsible?