Phones cut. the gun jams. Now he stands in his ten foot hall with three of 'em One bound to radiator also two wife and three his girlfriend The two latter scan his fifty-nine pence can of beer in the kitchen Behind ya he thinks A mutual glance inherent from their milltown persian alabama Atlanta albania whatever Their wisdom confirms friendship Too dumb sh** to do or know I am hostage Their young eyes say Jet-lag Wreck Arrogant Big lad He brought home yank Their triptych mentality explodes He laughs Poet reads out quatrain