(In South Beach, Remembering the Tyson)
O dream palaces of my mother’s childhood –
O sleekness, O pizzazz, O mirrors, O chrome,
O remnant inklings of a light-struck world
that deemed a moving picture an occasion
(O Gable, Harlow, Harpo, Garbo, Bogart)
for sculpture, frieze, mosaic, mohair velvet,
carpets lush with fronds – royal palm or fern,
somewhat worse for wear by the time we’d tread them,
my sister and I, to bask in Day and Hudson
with our shared Night’n Day or Baby Ruth.
When it closed, Mirow’s Furs bought the Tyson,
put a mink-clad mannequin in the ticket booth,
restored the murals, fixtures, sleek décor
now long since gutted for an outlet store.