Did Charles B smell of inky sweat

Did Charles B smell of inky sweat
& stale booze – of rolled odours?
That oil from his skin? It could’ve
greased a ship’s slipway [or fried
a sly heart attack brunch for us] –
& his scarred cheeks spat poems
between his knocking-back shots
& did he ever wash? Did he loose
his cock out on a street to shock?
Do I know you? – a paying heckler
was dispatched – again & again &
words were left again [beer helps]
as Hank [to his friends] swigged a
fat-neck Michelob & oozed grins/
This is what killed Dylan Thomas –
his column’s by-line spoke – oily
fish spit out their oily prey [he was
born to this] Castro’s twin in verse