St. Regis is part of a seven poem series on New York hotels from a book I’m finishing called Fantasy. The hotels include: The Crosby, The Carlyle, The Bowery, The Chelsea, The Mark, and The Pierre.
St. Regis
I ate the steak raw. It was Fleet Week.
New York was full of men who would die
for their country. They came in and out
of every hotel. Filled the bars.
Spilled their boyish laughs.
Smiled in their drinks.
So young their faces were pink.
So casual one of them told me
about his ship. I would love to sail
that ship out of my life, I said.
I would love to take my face off
and be night over water.
No matter how careful you are
nothing pure survives the night.
I watched another iron his uniform
while his cock hung calm in his shorts.
I took a cab to the piers where there were
so many of them. Like a list of things
we would be after childhood.
Like someone’s hands choking you out
after the long weekend is gone.
This is so beautiful. Thank you.
Such lush, powerful lines here.