Xix--Yearnings And Memories

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!