Friday, July 10, 2015

Delmore's at The Dixie




Delmore’s at The Dixie.
 
He drinks a fizzy Coca-Cola breakfast
Surrounded by magicians
In The Terrace Room.




Delmore’s at The Dixie.
It seems he’s in a hurry
He’s writing angry letters to the editor
Of The Partisan Review.


Delmore’s at The Dixie.
Like Dylan's at The Chelsea
And Sylvia's at The Barbizon
Throwing her clothes from the roof.




Delmore’s at The Dixie.
He stumbles to The Strand on Sunday
Looking for a book by Sigmund Marx
Called Das Oedipal.


Delmore’s at The Dixie.
He finds it hard to ignore the festive season
With an explosive- laden Christmas tree
In the bathtub where he bathes.




Delmore's at The Dixie.
Rockefeller is the reason
This broken bard wears grass- stained suits
Afraid to read his mail.


Delmore’s at The Dixie.
He tells Lou Reed, I won't meet Andy.
Then adds, And who the hell are you?
Don't sell out just the same.



Delmore's at The Dixie.
The bellboy says he's been talking about Trotsky.
Ginsberg thinks, This sounds just like Naomi.
Could this be fate that awaits all Dreamer Jews?


Delmore's at The Dixie.
Soon it will be over
He'll check out and graduate to God
From an Ivy-league hotel.





Delmore's at The Dixie.
He says in his best James Cagney:
To the destructive element
C'est vrai! C'est vrai! C'est vrai!


©Fiona Helmsley

This poem was published on Radius: Poetry From the Center to the Edge in May, 2015.


4 comments:

catfish said...

moody as hell, new york when it was a cradle of creativity, bravely written poesy

Flee Flee This Sad Hotel said...

Thanks Catfish.

Cynthia Santiglia said...

Fabulous.

Flee Flee this Sad Hotel said...

Thanks Cynthia.