LORD OF THE FAT CITY
I am working too hard at this task; too long
and too late into night. Everything is leaving me,
and I am outlasting the sun. There used to be
reflections on the glass - all those storefronts
and factories. garment people making stitches
on dresses, rhinestone cappers putting glitz
onto hats, 34th street eateries, open all hours,
and filled with workers hunched over their wallets.
Coffee, smokes, pizza, pastries. Even the leftist
bookstores, 'Liberation Books' and 'China Books'
and all that, they used to stay open until two in
the morning for all the crazed Marxists who'd
just hang around, and harangue around as well.
Another world has been lost - the fast-mouthed
talk of the Sandanista stalwart Israeli mouthpiece
socialist fatboy dark haired curly headed glamor
girl talking. I miss every one of the bastards too.
And now I'm old, and they are all so gone.
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