As a writer
In a small city
That in the limelight
Once seemed much bigger
Over the years I’ve
Met them all
Icons
Poets
Rock stars
And even
A few mobsters
The famous
& somewhat famous
Mostly?
All disturbed
Or drunk
Or broken
As the gin poured
Out of their
Skin over conversation
Me?
The younger me?
Either idolizing
Or immediately
Hating the real
Faces behind the
Image or the mask
And I swore that
One-day I’d write
A poem about them
For whatever
The fuck the
Memories are worth
Like a time capsule
Before my mind goes
Defunct
And before everyone
Even forgets who they
Were
Are
So let’s start
With drinking beers
With boxer Mike Tyson
At a club called Septembers
Long ago
Before drugs
Before the champion
Before Don King
And just before the fight
Mike was a good man
A good kid
We had great conversations
He bought me beers
We talked about our lives
We talked about life
I introduced him to clubs
And he drove me downtown
Speeding in his White Lamborghini
Never stopped
By the police
But two years later
His entourage wouldn’t
Even let you near him
The end of innocence
The corruption of fame
See ya kid
It was fun
Same bar
Different year
Wrestler Jake The Snake
Comes in wasted, swears
At my friend, a beautiful woman
The bartender and calls her a
See You Next Tuesday
Me?
About 23 with long ass
Metal hair and a dangling
Dragon earring sitting & writing
At the bar
Gets up
And tells good ol’ Jake
To quote
” Shut The Fuck Up”
Cause I never liked or
Worshipped assholes
Never put up with them
Cowards hiding behind
Their bullshit personalities
So Jake
Wasted & in disbelief
Looks at me and says
” WHAT?!”
Looked at him
And calmly said
“You heard me”
Jake comes flying
At me, I’m ready to kick
Him hard in the balls and
Run but his wrestling buddies
Hold him back struggling
Doorman gives me
A high five and as I
Leave the bar look at him
And say ” Drunk Asshole”
And later on he supposedly
Found God
But the stories of
Meeting with fame
Continued afterwards
So I’ll make them all brief
Because nobody
Wants a boring twenty page
Poem
Did shots
With Anne Waldman
Had a conversation about
Life and writing and a smoke
With a God
Named Jim Harrison
One of my favorite moments
Did shots with
The metal band Anthrax
A long time ago
Other bands that came
And went
Almost
Hooked up
With Samantha Fox
Until Paul Stanley walked
In the club
Thanks Paul
Seriously
Met poet Jim Carroll
Who wrote the Basketball
Diaries after he read in
Albany and drank with him
And a crowd of his followers
But poor Jim
Was so drunk that
You could tell he
Was just sick of it all
And I was drunk too
So when he said ” Fuck Albany!”
I told him ” No, Fuck You!”
We’ve got a lot of amazing
Shit going on around here
And we’re making it happen
Astonished friends &
His followers all at once
And I laughed
And left the bar
Shook Ferlinghetti’s hand
Talked to Ginsberg about
Poetry and The Source happening
Now
Which
Was back then
The true poetry rennisance
Of the 1990s
Don’t let the imposters
Fool you
I once met Frank Serpico
The older version at a bookstore
Downtown talking to Bill
The owner
Nice man. A bit broken.
Shook his hand
Liked him up to the point
Where he talked about taking
His pet German Shepherd out
Into the woods and shooting him
In the back of the head for biting
His hand while feeding him meat
Said ” I could never trust him again”
It was all about ” Loyalty”
Left saddened
And shaking my head
Realized all our heroes
Are really dead
Yet still living
But so much for
Memories and memories
Sake
Full of whiskey
And chance meetings
And conversations
Once asked by a middle aged drunk
Irishman visiting the states
If I’d be interested in joining
The IRA over whiskey at the Punk
Rock club
Said “No thanks”
Over breakfast by 4am
Many nights
Of drinking with
The local corrupts
Back in the day
And these are all the
Memories of time and place
Of music, art
Poetry & debauchery
The local nuance of
What some called fame
Sometimes
I miss them
But then I think
And ask
” Why?”
I’d trade it all in
For 5 more minutes
Talking to Jim
Who I understood
Completely
~ R.M. Engelhardt
©2026
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