The Robes of the Righteous

I am a saintly reformer, basking in goodly reknown Sure of applaud of the righteous, cinctured in purity's gown. Young men and old men revere me, women and girls out of school Come to me telling their secrets, seeking my counseling cool. Little they know of my story when I was the water-front's toast. Back in the days of my glory down on the Barbary Coast. Young and my lips full and crimson, flaming with passionate blood, My love was the leap of an ocean, my passion the swing of the flood. Changing and varied my fancies yet no woman ever gave more For I joyed in the man on my body just as much as the one just before Ah, nights that were lurid and gorgeous, under the bar lamps blaze Flutter of cars on the table, faces that leered through the haze Of smoke drifting up from the stogies, the red liquor flowing free And the shout of the salty ballass that sailors sang from the sea. The money scattered like water, the pagan thrill of the dance The hand that groped in my clothing, the burning and meaning glance Then the look as the stair I mounted, the man that left the floor, The joyous and panting waiting, the stealthy knock at my door— What if they knew, the elders, that I was a Barbary whore? Hiding my charms with meekness under purity's gown Sure of applaud of the righteous, basking in goodly reknown.

American poetry

Modern poetry