Improve-ing Week 6

Elegy in an Abandoned Boat Yard, pg. 474 Contemporary American Poetry

"I have to add that I really like this format. I think I may try it again sometime"

Elegy in an Abandoned Hallway not the Grand or Studio B16

There we stood, over whom the Kevorkian first whispered.

Mortals from within the city, with one bag of bagels,

Each, warm, good-fruitful, and laden with koshered love,

Humane, brandy-legged adolescence, what children.

With an iron bit in two starring, as one's eye squints

                                                    Whose cancer, I asked,

over whatever sat, floated, or sneezed.

In studios carved from marble and wrought with gold lace,

We huddled in green corners like freshman

at the first taste of scotch or worse--Milwaukee.

We took taxi's and rushed from the late shrieking emblem.

                                                            Reach the brown-step,

and I lost my lunch somewhere. The gay smell of cancer,

surrounding the swelling of stomachs like a good nectar gone black.

I am supposed to fear, no be kind, not perfect but, kind of like fear.

Considering his image, I must have dreamt he is not, nor longer awake.

Distance is grand. I realize how grand it is to be at a distance

                                                                        from The Grand.