With A Tip Of My Father's Fedora Poem by Susan Lacovara

Last month they shut the doors
On Roseland
One final time swept the floors
Shuttered up the doors
Dimmed the dance floor lights
I read about it in the local paper
An obituary for days gone by
I imagined tears in my father's eyes
For this was the place marked the youth
Of his endless stories and untold truths
Of how sweet a time it used to be
The palace where music and memories
Swirled, syncopated in big band laughter
And gentleman dressed the part
A place where friendships became
Cemented loyal for a lifetime
Like the passing of an old friend
Worn by time and too much change
The iconic now turns to legend
To be stored in the archives of our hearts
And whose images are easily stirred up
When Sinatra songs are played
And when a handsome man asks for your hand
And dazzle you with his fancy footwork

There is no good time for saying goodbye
Like leaving the old neighborhood behind
What long stood as familiar foundations
Slips to the shadows, bittersweet
To the strains of Glen Miller's orchestra
I won't forget, those gentleman, then
A crew who dwindle down in numbers
Taking a Penn Station midnight train
Once more round the streets and avenues
Of our saddened thoughts
Impeccably dressed
For long awaited reunions
In the grand ballroom of heaven
Where the music plays in perfect harmony
And all the riches of life return
As they shed their heavy topcoat
Of a life long lived
I say farewell, leaving, for another day
A chance to dance...again...
I brush back a tear, .
With handkerchiefed hand
From melancholy lips
Blow a kiss,
With a tip of my father's fedora