What a Mess

You can only play Dorothy Parker for so long
before everyone leaves the table at the Algonquin.
To be left sitting there holding court for one,
stark raving mad, a drunkard undone,
the most maddening of fates for the poet
you write, you speak, but no one comes
to your aid or your funeral
sometimes it is all one
sitting alone at the table, you shun the very souls
who feed you and your passion.