He'd been obviously cacillac'd up here
under duress, against the weight of better judgement,
his bow tie and messed up dining suit had lately stressed in better places.
They had him eating Waldorf Salad, with omelettes in disguise,
and although they had despised him, were desperate to sign,
the plot was thick as the soup, about an Eskimo who would grow
into a terrorist group after visiting his Uncle in New York.
He underwrote the deal realising he'd spent
all his life arriving from the eastand from the west,
but admired the part where the guy complained about the cold in Brooklyn
having spent his wintry summers pinned down below zero
then gone north to south and finished up a hero.