Walt Whitman

Henry meets Walt Whitman at Times Square
and Walt is laughing his ass off,
he’s reading a book by John Ashbery,

April Galleons, “Jesus,” cries Walt,
“this is battery and assault,
the runs and a chocolate malt!”

Walt is reading Delmore Schwartz
in a pair of Bermuda shorts,
in between snorts.

Delmore is standing on one foot
writing poetry in the subway,
only token spoken in Hoboken gone astray.

Walt has no time for e.e. cummings
or WCW’s hummings,
Central Park lemurs of demure

hide in his beard as he laughs,
“How I love Saturday night baths
to ward off the new-fangled wraths

of Pulitzer winning poets
who make galleons out of boats
from any sound that comes out of their throats.