Suburban Confidential.(Poem)

 
Suburban Confidential 
 
   The pickpockets at Randwick called their business Skims. 
   they had Fly, Gloves, and Legman instead of Christian names. 
   They said wads were Crops and talk was Mail. 
   Watches and bracelets were Tin. 
 
   Jockeys whip with a little oar. But they 
   called Whipping the fingering for black wallets 
   tucked like the skin of the heart. 
   How do you do it? I asked. "Practice. Practice." 
 
   I was crouched in walk-socks, underfoot of the people, 
   scouring for winnings among discarded slips. 
   They were standing in tracksuits, Love-Hate on their knuckles, 
   "We call you Periscope," they said, "The way you're up-down in the 
   Herd." …