Young Agnes, all of twenty-two years
Hooked into a retired doctor
With a certain guile she knew would work.
The doctor, retired and pushing seventy
Probably was giving into fantasy
When he met the beguiling chartreuse.
She wooed his weakness
Taking notes all the time,
Learning his ways, counting his potential.
He gave her trust
Betting his life
On the promise of a good time.
One night she asked him to stop
Way out in nowhere
So he could light her a cigarette.
Being the whipped hopeful,
He obliged, striking a flame
To burn the filthy weed.
But before he could continue driving
As she drew in a drag,
Two thugs hopped on the car’s running boards.
They took the aged doctor out of the car,
Off the road, and beat him senseless
For a mere twelve dollars.
Agnes disappeared with the ruffians.
Disappointed in the haul
For the plumpness of the doctor saved the rings on his fingers.
She swore he had more money on him,
But her youth may have been tempting and their brawn daunting,
However, none of the bunch were the brightest cons on the street.
Smarts sort of went to the bloodied doctor
Who had a secret pocket sewn into his vest
Stuffed full with six-hundred dollars.
Delusion and deceit,
Youth and aged,
Neither got what they sought.