Michael Gillan Maxwell

After Drinking At McSorley’s

I lean against the bar

drinking small tankards

of dark and light ale,

staring in amazement

at the dust encrusted filament

strung from one end

of the room

to the other,

crammed with desiccated wishbones.

Each represents a World War I doughboy

who shipped out to fight in the Great War

promised to retrieve his wishbone

when he came back safe and sound,

but never returned.

Leave the bar, head to the subway.

Descending the stairs to the landing,

hear accordion music and a woman

singing songs in French.

I see her from the landing above,

wearing a white gown,

tiara and angel wings.

She plays a white, pearlite accordion

and sings the songs of Edith Piaf,

the French chanteuse,

while all around her,

glassy-eyed stoners sit

moonfaced, wide eyed and smitten,

throwing dollars at her feet.

CP

Michael Gillan Maxwell lives in the Finger Lakes Region of New York and writes short fiction, poetry, songs, essays, recipes and irate letters to his legislators. His work has been featured in a number of journals and anthologies. He is a fiction editor for JMWW and a review editor for MadHat Lit. He might occasionally be found ranting and raving at http://michaelgillanmaxwell.com