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If not white shorts—then in a priestess gown
Where gaslights pierce the mist I'd have your age,
Young in a grey gown, blonde and royal, rage
Of handlebars at Reisenweber's, frown
Or smile to quell or rally half the town,
To polka partners mad, to flout the stage,
To pale The Lily to an average
Woman, looking up from your champagne, or down.

Myself, ascotted groom, dumb as a mome
Drinking your eyes... No Bill comes by to cadge
A Scotch in Rector's, waving his loose tongue;
I tip my skimmer to your friend who clung
Too long, blue-stocking cracked on the Red Badge
Stevie's become known for... We drive home.


Submitted by Holt

Added: 1 Mar 2004 | Last Read: 7 Sep 2008 7:35 AM | Viewed: 1589 times

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