Bourbon and scrambled eggs for breakfast
Upstairs in their dowdy suite at the old Boston Ritz
As guests of Brahmin old-fart trustees
Of the Harvard Advocate, 1955 or maybe 1956.
I was the magazine’s Pegasus, the literary editor.
I knew these sophisticates were hicks.
I was from St. Louis—nineteen years old.
Ezra Pound was my movie star.
Chintz daylight filled the room
And the deep mahogany bourbon we sipped.
Edible scrambled eggs
We ate while we got ripped.
We children wore the beautiful bourbon
Like a beautiful turban.