This particular piece makes me want to know more about Mack Mickey Malone. What happened before, during and after? Where does he sleep? It reallly has me thinking about an entire character. For some reason, I seem to believe that he hasn't showered in a few days. That I can't explain.

At home, at night ----on the way. MM laughs, smirks --- laughs and sleeps. Girls and smokes. Humphrey Bogart and Bugsy Malone. Dunno why.

Well, that's the thing with poetry. If even in prose rarely do you get the whole story, since it usually begins in medias res, or "in the middle of things", in poetry you get even more of the vignette effect; usually the genre requires on a moment-by-moment approach to the narrative (if a narrative even exists, I must add, which does not in this poem and, in my opinion, should not exist in any poem).

I hate to remind you this, but sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, there is no deeper meaning; perhaps there is no "meaning" at all, per se. Don't look for concrete descriptions, storylines or characters, don't try to understand my work, I can barely do it myself.

I can give you a hint or two, perhaps: think about what kind of job Mickey has, according to what he dreams about; think about his name, look back at other recent poems, see if a pattern emerges, see if you can guess who he is.

please tell me who Mickey Malone is, other than me?

Uh, heh, sorry to disappoint you, man, but Mack Mickey Malone is an entirely fictional character whom I invented for this poem. I rarely break down my poems, but, since I already did so for Patrick here, I might as well do so for you, too.

I imagined Mickey as a sort of a rough-on-the-outside, gentle-and-intelligent-on-the-inside blue-collar guy, who embodies a sort of a strange, yet true, balance; he's a "happy" kind of guy, but in his own quiet, yet knowing, special, little way. Oh, and he is also a descendant of the Irish, living in North America, somewhere, heh.

I hope this helps. ;)