Poetry » Charles Springer »

Star Struck in Philly

We had no money
and tickets were outrageous.
So we’d leave our house
in the final act
and hoof it up back alleys.
Outside the Forrest’s stage door
we’d shift from foot to foot.
After Waltz, we caught
Kate Hepburn in her blue-gray
silk bandana, saw her
fling her weathered satchel
into a rented Chevy.
After Little Foxes, Liz
paraded with her parrot
on her shoulder. Dick
helped his new tall wife
into a pastel limo.
But you’re the one
who swept me off my feet
and held me high
above the crowd.
I could see them all
and they saw us.
We even signed some
autographs.

Last Wishes

I want to walk above the East River
before I die. On the Brooklyn Bridge
of course. I know I’ll die
before I see Architeuthis
alive. Heard tell its razor beak
could take my head off like a lollipop.
Meanwhile I promise not to get too close
to rims of any ruins. I’ll try to take
just one stair at a time. Will you

take my hand for all
of my last wishes? I won’t beg
although my time is just around a corner
like the bistro famous for last suppers.
When you see me on the other side,
my hair will be slicked back
but I won’t have on my snakeboots. Look
for me among submersibles. Look for me
among the birds and planes.