when i was kid,
i used to goto the racetrack with my friend
Ritchie,
the harness
races in Baltimore.
i remember his father
in his dark
sunglasses,
his white shirt
and black suit.
he used to buy us candy.
he won a lot it seemed.
it's almost
as if he knew
ahead of time which
horse would win.
standing there with his
hands on hips
smoking a fat cigar.
i read about him years
later in the newspaper,
his hands
behind his back,
being led out of a nightclub
by the police.
his sunglasses
still on.
i have no idea what
happened to his kid.
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