In the Old Hotel<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 –for the Majestic, 1893-2014<\/i><\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/i>1.<\/p>\n
She doesn\u2019t check in, but sneaks. (There is no one<\/p>\n
behind the front desk anyway.)\u00a0 She takes the stairs, slowly,<\/p>\n
keeping close to the side, where the wood<\/p>\n
bears her weight without peril.<\/p>\n
It is a copper mine now, tapped out.\u00a0 Frozen radiators<\/p>\n
hold the corners of guest rooms where the window glass<\/p>\n
still grows fields of frost before the February sun.<\/p>\n
Drafts like icy shards through the gaps in the frames.<\/p>\n
Should\u2019ve picked a room lower down, but then again, cops<\/i>.<\/p>\n
And the street, and real wind through broken panes.<\/p>\n
And cops.<\/p>\n
\u00a02.<\/p>\n
At ninety-six, the old ghost is still pretty spry.<\/p>\n
Still, too, the celebratory whiff of cigar, and brandy\u2014<\/p>\n
curfew be damned!\u2014who needs Spring Training<\/p>\n
when he already smashes \u2018em right out of Whittington Park?<\/p>\n
The game\u2019ll never be the same, Babe, so run<\/p>\n
those stairs, man, masseuse on one arm and<\/p>\n
the world on the other and<\/p>\n
the whole empty place to echo back.<\/p>\n
3.<\/p>\n
\u201cOnce Al Capone decamped for Arlington 4, the Majestic welcomed Bugs Moran.<\/p>\n
Although the two were sworn enemies, no violence broke out between them<\/p>\n
as they trod the neutral ground of Hot Springs.\u201d<\/p>\n
4.<\/p>\n
Park Avenue is quiet now, and the sun replaced<\/p>\n
by copper-colored street lights,<\/p>\n
softer by far, and safer.<\/p>\n
Even the police won\u2019t be much of a threat this time of day.<\/p>\n
But the splintery cold still pricks me<\/p>\n
and I weigh the prospect of sleep against<\/p>\n
the last half-inch of Sterno in the can.<\/p>\n
And it\u2019s been days since I\u2019ve slept indoors,<\/p>\n
days since I even could<\/p>\n
close my eyes<\/p>\n
to the Park Police and thieves and raccoons.<\/p>\n
I light it, scoot it close to my pallet,<\/p>\n
rest my head.<\/p>\n
5.<\/p>\n
Other occasions bleed over.<\/p>\n
Reunions, a wedding by the spring-nymph fountain:<\/p>\n
each has its own spirits.<\/p>\n
Briefly, the Babe pauses, annoyed at the intrusion,<\/p>\n
competition.<\/p>\n
He glances over his throwing shoulder<\/p>\n
at the nymph, gleaming in his 1918.<\/p>\n
Nobody<\/i>, he thinks, and starts back up the stairs.<\/p>\n
On the third floor, a shade of Bugs Moran<\/p>\n
pours a whisky to toast the happy couple.<\/p>\n
6.<\/p>\n
When she arrives at the old hotel,<\/p>\n
she doesn\u2019t check in, just enters.<\/p>\n
She takes the staircase, slowly,<\/p>\n
admiring as she goes the rich<\/p>\n
brocades and polished mahogany.<\/p>\n
She considers for a second going back down,<\/p>\n
crossing the long lobby to stand<\/p>\n
before the spring fountain.<\/p>\n
But she is tired now, and the sprites<\/p>\n
will always wait for her, after all.<\/p>\n
On the fifth floor she finds her room<\/p>\n
unlocked\u2014cover turned down already<\/p>\n
but curtains open to the warm afternoon outside.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
She hears laughter, and it catches.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
She smiles.\u00a0 She will never see the ashes.<\/p>\n
She never sees whatever comes next,<\/p>\n
but always the Majestic.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
***<\/strong><\/p>\n This poem<\/strong> <\/em>is the first in my marathon of poems (plus 3.8) for Tupelo Press’s <\/a>cool fundraising project 30\/30.\u00a0 You can view the poems I and the other “runners” submit every day during the month of March, at<\/p>\n http:\/\/tupelopress.wordpress.com\/3030-project\/<\/a>.<\/p>\n Please follow our work, and if you find it even the slightest bit entertaining, engaging, thought-provoking, or just generally worthy, donate to Tupelo Press, an independent literary publisher.\u00a0 Sponsor me<\/strong> by entering T. Thibodeaux Baar<\/strong> <\/em>in the “in honor of” line on the donation form, which you can find here:<\/p>\n https:\/\/www.tupelopress.org\/donate.php<\/a><\/p>\n (Scroll down; it’s a form!)<\/p>\n Thanks for stopping by!\u00a0 I am happy to hear from you via email or comments.\u00a0 \ud83d\ude42<\/p>\n LouLou (the main monkey)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" In the Old Hotel \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 –for the Majestic, 1893-2014 \u00a01. She doesn\u2019t check in, but sneaks. (There is no one behind the front desk anyway.)\u00a0 She takes the stairs, slowly, keeping close to the side, where the wood bears her … Continue reading