September 29, 2021

A Constellation of Poets

Rumi and Khayyam sang of god––or wine;
Fitzgerald and Millay both liked their gin
with or without a twist of Persian lime
Dorothy Parker played bridge to drink and win,
and Oscar Wilde was fond of chilled champagne.
Poor Dylan Thomas had a glass of rye
too many and though he did not complain,
he stopped his writing long enough to die.
While Hemingway had rum and Cuba Libres,
Neruda sampled his night-colored wine,
Arthur Rimbaud sailed on his bateau ivre,
and here I am just trying to lease mine.
With stars like these, no wonder people think
the only thing we poets do is drink.

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