The golem who occasionally
Brings me a poem is trying
To sell me one about when
She was a dancing girl
(She was a dancing girl?)
At the Ancien Eldorado
In Cairo. There's no story
Really; it's all atmosphere
Beaded curtains and jazz
Played by austere men in
Jaunty hats for other men,
Less austere, smoking
Thin cigarettes and watching
Women dance. She says that
The ghost of Konstantin Cavafy
Once bought her a dark beer.
When I object that Cavafy
Hated Cairo, rarely left Alexandria
And was, anyway, still alive then
She shrugs and does a few steps
Of what she says isThe Balboa.
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