Saul Bennett
The Hungry Aftermath
of Marxist Dogma
I once watched Chico Marx as close to me
as an eye chart peel a banana
on the Roxy stage in his swing band
act between movie showings.
Though feeling Chico less funny
than Harpo or Groucho and missing
Zeppo in their later pictures
I couldn't get over being brought
Way down front from Queens
with eats after by my mother's
first cousin Belle and her half-a-head-
shorter stogie husband George
Who'd bought War Bonds enough
for free tickets. As their 1-A
son Sheldon turning eighteen
had just been called up
Wanting a kid that day I suppose
they took me. Chico so close was so old
between "A Day at the Races"
and "A Night in Casablanca"
And even at eight I thought his routine
too dopey. Audience laughter barely tied
coughing or maybe I was too
fidgety to hear straight inside
My eats daydream thinking where
they'd take me after hoping for
the Automat at least and maybe
the audience was hungry too.
Heading out after Cousin Belle asked
hadn't I loved Chico and there were
little George's stogied lips
twitching hard for an answer.
To disappoint might mean
not no eats but maybe less
or less good. So he was funny
all right 1 said and all
That bought was a frank
and an orange crush at a Nedick's
subway stand standing up.
Thumbshooting stray
Relish droppings off that streaky counter
the way I shot marbles fifty years ago
I learned tell the truth
and food will find a way.