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The Drinking Duck


I’m back at the Bar, sipping more Rye Whiskey. Many thanks to John Patrick Robbins, Poet and Editor-in-Chief  of The Rye Whiskey Review, for letting me in. 



La Belle Époque


The theme of the dinner party was La Belle Époque,

in the vintage shop, I found a dress suitable for Jane Avril.

Took it home, put it on a hanger and began imagining …

The urge was great, so I slipped into it,

the lights dimmed for a moment and

I was transported to a busy bar in Paris,

champagne flowing, cigarette smoke hanging in the air,

as the pianist accompanied the sad song the soloist sang.

Toulouse came to say, “Bonne soirée, ma chérie,”

but my eye was on the young Picasso, surrounded by pretty ladies.

Hiding in the corner with Zola was Pierre Currie,

having left Marie at the laboratory with her radiation tests.

Lumiére was looking up and down my dress,

to decide on my role in his next film,

as Picasso approached and bought me drink.

Moulin Rouge, he said, or Casino de Paris or maybe even La Tour Eiffel

Toulouse wasn’t too happy about this, but he joined crowd,

carrying bottles of champagne in his hands.

We rode Lumiére’s automobile to the Eiffel with Colette,

flirting with the elegant dames, in their haute couture,

Monet, Renoir, and Cezanne followed us,

in other autos with Michelin tyres.

We danced through the night in Parc du Champ de Mars,

and on top of the tower, watching Paris and then,

stopped at Moulin Rouge, meeting,

Andre Gide, Baudelaire, Mussorgsky and Stravinsky there.

Joie de vivre, absinthe, Can-can, poetry,

music, art, and literature hand in hand,

we roamed through Monmartre,  Folies Bergére,

visiting each and every drinking hole,

cabaret, burlesque show, and ended up at the Ritz.

And we danced, and we danced, and we danced,

And I danced, and I danced, and I danced,

clinging to my dress …







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