In Countless Droves Poem by Charles Chaim Wax

On July 4th
we walked to the liquor store
on Surf Avenue
in Coney Island
“What’s a good Scotch? ” I asked.
“Dewer’s White Label, ”
said the guy behind the counter.
“That’s what Alvin Goldfarb
used to drink, ” said Melvin Hopp,
“before he passed
had a twisted mind
seen him gobble a waterbug once
just to impress Ellen Cleary.”
“Was she impressed? ” I asked Melvin.
“Yeah.
Who wouldn’t be
if a guy ate a waterbug
in your honor
then said
it tasted like applesauce.”
“Used to be a fella worked here, ” I said,
“but I can’t remember
his name
left ear was like
bitten off, said
a lion done it, but I think
he was telling a story.”
“Sid Baumgerten, ” said the guy
behind the counter.
“Right.”
“He works here in the morning.”
“What about his friend
he was with all the time
they used eat dinner
in Meng’s
and the man always
poured half a pint of Gin
into his ginger ale.”
“You mean Roy Braine? ”
“Right, right.”
“Dead.”
“No, ” I said,
“and just the other day
I found out
Fannie Shepherd went
and Frank Dorr and Bill Walker
last week it was Jim Rogers,
Alice Foster, and Tom Wiley.
What’s going on?
the whole world’s dying.”
“Got to be, ” said Melvin Hopp,
“to make room.”