My Mojo All Gone

 

My mojo all gone I wish I were Ashbery
No, not the poet.  I’d have a haberdashery
Ashbery’s Haberdashery down thirteen flights.
We’re closed all the days and all of the nights.
We’d have derbies and Panamas and the finest fedora
And a curious headdress from far Bora Bora
And a nautical hat that’s most like a whale
And none of it, sadly, quite yet for sale.
Cause that’s just what happens.  That’s how it goes.
Without rings and your fingers or bells on your toes
You close up the shop and go down to the zoo
And patiently stare at a panther or two.
As they patiently stare right back at you


My mojo all gone so I cry out thinly
I want to write poems like Phyllis McGinley.
If luck were a lady I'd be in Manhattan
And there'd be a New Yorker to put this and that in.
I'd have an apartment quite near the West Side
And a small quaint log cabin quite near Telluride.
And on weekday mornings I'd write poems of wit.
Then repair to the bedroom and sleep for a bit.
The slow snow would fall but I'd still go to Macy's
And then on up to Harlem to listen to Basie.
I'd understand Swing but be the upset by the Blues.
Have a fine foxfur coat and fine two tone shoes.