Ange and Poor Pudgy

Ange and poor Pudgey
Were our performance art.
Ange passed out wedgies.
Poor Pudgey, not so smart.

Under a yellow street light
They’d both play blackjack.
Ange always the dealer,
Pudgey’s money, his stack.

Pudgey once said to Ange,
“Why not pass the deal?”
Ange snapped right back,
“You gotta be for real.”

“I’m gonna get Black Jack,
Wipe out the whole table.
And you tell me fold?
You think I ain’t able?”

Ange dealt cards again
For his up card a deuce.
None at table took a hit,
His neck in tight noose.

Dealer’s down card was
A one-eyed red Jack.
Hit card, ten of clubs,
Ange hadn't caught slack.

The dealer reached over
Grabbed Pudgey’s bankroll.
Paid the whole table,
Called Pudgey a troll.

Poor Pudgey bemoaned,
“Ange, you took all I got.”
Ange crassly shot back,
“Aren’t you a sad lot?”

Their street vaudeville act
Went on too many years.
‘Til Ange went off to jail,
Left poor Pudgey in tears.

by benny bell jr

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