Because some have requested it, an excerpt from my presentation in the Coney Island Museum benefit a few weeks back. The words to my poem are below (I’ve put helpful hotlinks on some of the references):
It’s December and the presents are underneath the Coney Island Christmas Tree
Do you know it? It’s 250 feet tall with 8,000 lights that can be seen from miles away, in fact, can be spotted all around the world.
There are 300 elves in the Midget City
A bearded fat man sings a drunken ditty
A working girl hangs her stockings with care,
Side by side by a polar bear.
“Ha, ha, ha” went the funnyplace clown
There’s nuts a-fire, the midway burned down
An innocent babe in an incubator.
Was rocked to sleep by a roller skater.
Throw a baseball, break a plate.
Shoot the Freak, Whack-a-mole.
Stifle a shriek in the old Ghost Hole
A drunk from the Gut seeks a spot he can pee on.
Beldames, shell games, Shangri-La.
The wild man beats the bars of his cage
Seal-O the Seal Boy, squirt gun and squeegee
Ballyhoo and beauteous banners;
Urchins with deplorable manners.
A two ton dame name of Jolly Irene,
A lemonade cup made of polystyrene.
Deep fried feasts and Bostock’s beasts
Yer leasts is mosts, and yer mosts is leasts.
You pays your money and you takes your chances.
Missing links, papaya drinks.
Yer kid threw up, now the carousel stinks.
Fun times with your uncle and auntie
French fries covered in orange cheese.
A corn dog stick for a cur to bite on,
Rope tricks, rides, and renegade Russians
Working the chumps, in its way it’s industrious.
Shoot the Chutes, crooks in suits,
Mediums guess, Old folks play chess
The cooch dancer’s coughing, somebody call Fauci!