Today is Doc Holliday’s birthday. Had he lived, John Henry Holliday would have been 157. Doc was my favorite western gunfighter. The Thomas De Quincy of shootists and pistoleers, he had consumption, a laudanum habit, a dandy’s taste in threads, and covered a bad attitude with exquisite Dixie manners. When asked if he had a conscience, he reportedly replied, “I coughed that up with my lungs years ago.”
A poem. My take on what Coleridge might have done had he written a western...
IS THERE A CHINAMAN IN TOWN?
Is there a Chinaman in town?
Doc always asked the same question
As the room fell silent
At the ponderous tread of his bootheels
Down the length of the hardwood floor
And the slight creak of his damaged lungs
Every eye covertly upon him
And there wasn’t a saloon in the territory
Where at least one barfly asshole
Didn’t recognize him for who he was
And whisper it to the others
Is there a Chinaman in town?
Doc always asked the same question
A slow survey of the interior
Never turning his back
On the sunlight leaking through the door
And the gawkers would avert their eyes
Through three fast shots of bourbon
Like his life depended on them
His hands shook slightly
As he pulled off his gloves
But then he’d fix the bartender
With a stare that could freeze gin
Is there a Chinaman in town?
They all knew what Doc meant
They all knew what Doc needed
Was there a room with a secret door
That led through the Portal of Time
To the Palace of Mirrors?
Was there a hidden place
Behind the laundry
Knock three times and say
That Woo sent me?
Is there a Chinaman in town?
Is there a place where men
Racked and inert
Could dream the dream?
Is there a place
Of sweet smoke and glowing coals?
A long pipe and a cooling fan?
Is there a place of silent safety
Where the tail of the dragon
Will finally come to rest?
Is there a Chinaman in town?
Can anyone direct me
To the solitude of divine night
To the chamber of shadows
Where legend can be laid to rest
Along with all the reproaching ghosts
Is there an enclosure
Of small death and brilliant images
Where memory stills
With the flask of laudanum
Beyond the reach of the bodies and the old perfume
And I am no longer required to listen
To the echoes of dead men’s pistol shots
Is there a Chinaman in town?
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Thomas de Quincy
Doc Holliday
Please tell me, gentlemen
Is there a Chinaman in town?
IS THERE A CHINAMAN IN TOWN?
Is there a Chinaman in town?
Doc always asked the same question
As the room fell silent
At the ponderous tread of his bootheels
Down the length of the hardwood floor
And the slight creak of his damaged lungs
Every eye covertly upon him
And there wasn’t a saloon in the territory
Where at least one barfly asshole
Didn’t recognize him for who he was
And whisper it to the others
Is there a Chinaman in town?
Doc always asked the same question
A slow survey of the interior
Never turning his back
On the sunlight leaking through the door
And the gawkers would avert their eyes
Through three fast shots of bourbon
Like his life depended on them
His hands shook slightly
As he pulled off his gloves
But then he’d fix the bartender
With a stare that could freeze gin
Is there a Chinaman in town?
They all knew what Doc meant
They all knew what Doc needed
Was there a room with a secret door
That led through the Portal of Time
To the Palace of Mirrors?
Was there a hidden place
Behind the laundry
Knock three times and say
That Woo sent me?
Is there a Chinaman in town?
Is there a place where men
Racked and inert
Could dream the dream?
Is there a place
Of sweet smoke and glowing coals?
A long pipe and a cooling fan?
Is there a place of silent safety
Where the tail of the dragon
Will finally come to rest?
Is there a Chinaman in town?
Can anyone direct me
To the solitude of divine night
To the chamber of shadows
Where legend can be laid to rest
Along with all the reproaching ghosts
Is there an enclosure
Of small death and brilliant images
Where memory stills
With the flask of laudanum
Beyond the reach of the bodies and the old perfume
And I am no longer required to listen
To the echoes of dead men’s pistol shots
Is there a Chinaman in town?
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Thomas de Quincy
Doc Holliday
Please tell me, gentlemen
Is there a Chinaman in town?
.JPG)
5 comments:
Nice pome but inside the pleasure-dome you can still hear those old ancestral voices prophesying war.
But you could offer me a drink.
Milk of Paradise? Want some honeydew with that?
Sounds good.
Just don't pour too fast or I drool.
Can I say your poem is beautiful and soulfelt without the maker of Vampires Stole My Lunch Money going full spare? That LP has become a part of my daily mythos what with all the zombie lines and I don't wanna go this way. Thanks, Mick. And Happy Birthday on the 3rd of Sept.
Spaced Waif
Thank you, Waif. I really appreciate your kindness.
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