A Glorious Blaze Of Dusk Poem by Glenn Latal

I have long wished to be Brahms
With girth and beard and an air of conviction,
Belonging right here, on this street, in this skin.
Old bull elephant, worn tusks, swaying trunk,
Stomping down the cobbled street
To his midday hops and hoof, pilsner and pork.
Alt Wien smells to him of coffee, tobacco, and spun sugar.
The clop of horseshoes and click of canes echo.

He seems content to have aged precociously,
In this ancient city cozily cocooned in the golden decadence
Of nostalgia for a past that had never been.
Tomorrow suspiciously similar to yesterday
Radiates from masonry walls
Like heat stored from a timeless lazy afternoon
Insinuating itself into the close of day.

He walks in a nimbus, equal parts cigar smoke,
The jealous pride of a city for its most revered genius
And the melancholy residue of a lifetime of doling out love
In reluctantly accepted portions, separately and cumulatively
Never reaching the minimal effective dosage.

I don’t yearn for the acclaim or even respect,
But the acceptance, not of, but by him.
A lift of his hat, a kind word and a stoop,
That painfully stiff facsimile of a bow of the elderly.
It may be that the only common denominator
Of all gentlemen is patience,
Especially for those least deserving
In the eyes of others.