Dinner Flushed Down The Toilet Poem by Ernest Hilbert

All my friends had gone from downtown.
The trash workers union at last had struck,
And August reeked in the streets and alleys.
Too poor for Fire Island or the Sound,
I stayed at a friend's empty loft for free,
In Chelsea, with a bag of clothes and a book.
I poured all the spoiled milk down the drain.
I rooted in the cupboards and found a can of soup.
I warmed it on the stove and took a chair.
I added Saltines. As they sucked the red stain
Of steaming tomato, fleeing groups
Of weevils wriggled up from the soggy squares.
I float in summer waves near a ruined fleet.
Teeming ships smoke and sink in the heat.