To Jimmy Fisher
Liquor there is—but how I miss the Bar!
I miss a certain attitude of mind,
Congenial, which I seek but never find
Except beneath the golden triple star
Which from the brandy bottle shines afar.
I miss a type of jest that was designed
For roaring barrooms warmed with booze, and
kind—
Good Gawd! how coarse and low my real tastes are.
I miss an ambling, splay-foot waiter's beak,
Which like some red peninsula of hell
Glowed through the humming barroom's smoky
reek—
I miss the lies I used to hear men tell
Over the telephone to waiting wives—
What sweet aromas had these joyous lives!
XX—DO YOU REMEMBER?
To Harry Dixey
Do you remember that first Morning Drink
When Ed would smile and say, “What shall it be?”
“Would you advise a Gin Fizz, Ed, for me?”
“It is too early for a Fizz, I think.”
“And would an Absinthe put me on the blink,
I wonder, Ed?”—“Absinthe would not agree
This morning, sir.”—“Then what's your recipe?”
“A bland Club Cocktail, delicate and pink!”
O kindly Barkeeps that have raised me up
From morning glooms and made me live again,
Where are ye now, and where your wizardry?
As dead as great Ulysses' faithful pup!
As dead as Babylon and James G. Blaine!
As dead as Gyp the Blood and Nineveh!