XPost: alt.arts.poetry.comments

Zod wrote:

Will Dockery wrote:

Clermont Hotel 1982

The Clermont
is not a steamboat
not here
not in this memory.

I close my eyes
as I think of that name
watch her as
she passes by.

How Robert Fulton
led to this
a word or thought
can prompt another
up the road from here.

Near the Clermont
the ghost of Capone
who ran the show
from his room
looking down from his room
to the diner.

The light at 4 am
and
a tingle in my backbone.

Jump cut
looking through plate glass
at Majestic Diner
me, Hugo and Jim were having a...
cup of coffee.

Later on as the night
thinned down
I found her.

We spoke
another detached situation
I made the moves
I had learned my
lessons well.

I knew damn well
this was nasty
flowers everywhere
rubbish on the stairs.

Not the kind of place
I would need
to be seen.
Another summer of love
laced with obscene.

The smell?
Nag Champa.
The aftertaste?
something bitter.

The smell
smack down memory
that still
surrounds you.

And here I sit
thirty five years
down the road
in a moment
that keeps flashing
back to me.

That one instant
it doesn't happen
to me every day
coming on to me
through a window.

Funny side bars
save those for another
poem
another time
"to excess" seemed clever
for a moment.

She shot water rats
just like that
song went
with her beady eyed pimp
her money was
well spent.

She moved on
I was down the hall
and gone
She moved on
just kept on
getting stoned
She is gone... now.

Because I could not wait
by the window
for the phantom
the phantom stood
outside
and waved at me.

I don't remember
her very good
not sure if
I even should.

Her head was
very good
but her black drugs
still scare me.

She moved on
took a lot
of time with her.
She moved on
I have three images
I keep here
She is gone... now.

In the fog
just another girl
on Ponce DeLeon Avenue
in 1982
she waves at me in my
snapshot memory
it must be true.

She came walking
past me
a couple of times
that week
I was checking for runes
on the sidewalk
she smiled
must have thought
I was a geek.

I was going to the corner
as she passed by
she was making money
just like
so many others often try
sometimes she sold flowers
sometimes just
straight up tricks.

She knew her trade
she had it made
just another character
waving
for one second
as my coffee
went cold.

I could say
she was an old friend
from an earlier day
she waved and passed on
across time
moving
in a darkened sway.

And I do not
know her name
it may have been Irene
it went fast
kind of sleazy and insane.

She moved on
and left
a few images behind
She moved on
a random word
brought her back
to my mind
She is gone... now.

We slowly drove
she sat in the back
silvery mist sparks
in pitch black
when I have the courage
to look back.

Down the road
near Fernbank Park
she crossed
and crossed herself.

She said
she had promised herself
not to be swayed again
by the
kindness of strangers.

But things move fast
and lucrative
with friendly strangers
who pass and smile
at her at
the bus stop.

She moved on
I did the same
even sooner.

The Clermont Hotel
is empty now
with much bigger legends
than these.

She moved on
the sounds remain
she's in my brain
but
She is gone... now.

All I have are these
images
that slowly fade.

-Will Dockery / 12-4-17

One for the ages...

Thanks again for reading and commenting, Zod.

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