Groucho's Gefilte

Always the same little hash joint.
For lunch, the identical dish --
in Kremzer's, on Mott and Delancey,
potatoes and yiddisher fish.

His real name was Julius Henry,
but "Groucho" is how he was known.
His whim was to lunch in the corner,
unsmiling, unnoticed, alone.

So in comes a true-born impresser,
a back-slapping man about town.
He's towing some Princeton professor,
and eyeballs the vaudeville clown.

Finagling faux introductions,
the forte of showbusiness sharks:
he'll astonish the ecrivain manque ...
"I'll get you an entree with Marx!"

He gives it the big how's-it-going,
the Princeton prick shuffles his feet.
But Groucho, unseeing, unknowing,
uncaring, continues to eat.

"This man wrote 'The Vanderbilts', damn it!"
(incipient panic attack).
Without looking up, answers Groucho,
"The Vanderbilts -- did they write back?"

 

Author's Note

ecrivain manque -- would-be writer