The Age of Cool

I was there to see it end, the era of Sinatra cool,
Of Rat-Pack Vegas, long gold cars, and dry martinis,
Cigarettes, and introspective quartet jazz. A real man
Wore a suit and tie and hat. What did the women
Wear? I draw a blank. They stayed at home. They
Were not welcome elsewhere then, except the babes,
The blondes in heels, who, issuing from unknown
Places, joined the men at night. It was a brittle, perfect
World for those who found themselves within it.
Others, guys in undershirts and women feeding
Crying babies, shoeshine “boys” and secretaries,
Gazed. They envied what they saw. Then,
Suddenly, the world warmed. Our perfectly
Sinatra president was shot to death in Dallas. Kids
Were ordered off to war, and all those gazing crowded
In. The clubs shut down. The quartets quit, drowned
Out by roaring rock and roll. Frank, himself, now older,
Didn't seem to be so cool.




Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 18 times
Written on 2021-11-11 at 22:53

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