Joseph Feely, American
“Wow, This Speakeasy Is Really Empty Tonight. They Used To Get a Bigger Crowd When the Password Was Just ‘Password,'” Date Unknown
Oil on canvas
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/// Into speakeasies Maisie would slink,
seeking rich men to buy her a drink.
Tonight nobody’s here
guzzling whiskey or beer.
This is no way to earn her first mink.
/// She’d left early last night. Had she stayed
she’d have also been caught in the raid.
Those who hadn’t made bail
were, no doubt, still in jail,
but the joint wasn’t closed— bribes were paid.
/// Spanish flu and the Great War were done,
and the country was ready for fun.
Prohibition at first
tried to fight people’s thirst,
but the lawbreakers prospered and won.
/// This is where you can buy bootleg gin,
but a password’s required to get in.
“Swordfish” is a cliché,
and “Joe sent me” passé.
To be sure, slip the bouncer a fin.
/// Maisie’d been a sweet innocent child,
but today’s flappers love running wild.
She could smoke drink and swear
in short skirts and bobbed hair,
and yet somehow remain undefiled.
/// A young girl who is deeply in debt’ll
bend her rules as a test to her mettle.
As the hour grows late
is there reason to wait
for a better mate, or should she settle?
/// He can see that the girl’s fairly cute,
and observably she’s dissolute.
He’s a big, hulking brute,
so consent here is moot.
Long-term friendship is not taking root.
/// But she thinks he’s an ugly old coot
with a pistol-shaped bulge in his suit.
His jeweled ring is a beaut,
so he’s got lots of loot.
She should exit, but she’s not astute.
/// He was studious, nearly rabbinic,
and an optimist; she was a cynic.
The exchange of some cash
made them do something rash
and they met once again at the clinic.