this is a week to visit and revisit friends. old, new, imaginary, now ghosts. we'll leave some bravos, a few huzzahs, perhaps a razz or 2. life's not made of perfect things and we can cherish a flaw, or several. and since we must begin somewhere, how about here . . . .

good old 23rd

deborah Gomorrah plays a madcap tune
on her black and gold accordion
sidesteps mashers, accepting coins
a truly generous frivolity
down on 23rd

she's part of history, of verses sold
to support old habits diabolical
runners and pandlers,
abused or aroused
worshiped her of old

is there room still yet
for perversity gone gentle
hormones buckled under
some days grow short
some nights go on forever

save your nickels, perhaps
some dimes, if silver summons luck
support the arts and daffy minstrels
for a lady out in open air
making glamour and rare delight

she favors reds and tints of oranges
and if boas have some charm
she has a closet full of feathers
shoes that sparkle at her wit
she needs an audience to survive

there is a plaque to all her lovers
paid for by admirers
chiseled with some care
so let's all applaud dear deborah
somewhere on 23rd