Garbo Speaks
I’d worked late each night that summer,
I had some free cash in Eighty Nine.
So, it was only natural
when I needed to unwind.
I’d grab a meal and have a glass
(or two) till final call
Then show up in the morning for
my stint at Broad and Wall.
The Blue bar at the Algonquin
was always my first choice.
Steve Ross was singing in the oak room,
I recall his lovely voice.
The bartender and the waiters
knew my wants without a word.
As I waited for my supper
a distinctive voice was heard.
Even in her eighties, Garbo struck a
regal tone.
Despite cancer's indignities
She would have honored any throne.
.
She knew I’d recognized her,
though I never said her name.
I 'd been just a child when she
had her last brush with fame.
She knew me from the brokerage house
Her account was with my boss.
We’d sometimes spoken on the phone
about a gain or loss.
I asked if she would like a drink
when next the barkeep came.
She eyed the Bourbon in my glass
and said “I’ll have the same.”
We were two people, both alone,
She famous, me, obscure.
For me it was her solitude
that acted as a lure.
I knew she’d never married
though there were lovers and affairs.
It was as if the single life
was answer to her prayers.
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
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