But I've Felt the Heat

.
I have a fascination with the flapper's doodle-do,
the Roaring Twenties captured; Rudy Vallee's talley-hoo.
Through used book stores in many states I've plowed the dusty tomes,
snared two hundred plus old prints, lugged rare collections home.

But that was merely starting off: I devoured each one of them
and visualized the mise en scène of Babbitt's life back when.
Ah, Sinclair Lewis, he's the man who brought Main Street to life.
Elmer Gantry, Arrowsmith and Dodsworth --- sharp as knives.

Of course Fitzgerald's Gatsby after Bernice Bobs Her Hair,
was written less as fiction -- tantamount to being there.
Days of Dorothy Parker, Alqonquin's ditsy queen,
Round Table regnant reigning over literary scene.

Warren Harding's rise and tragic fall before the swamp
of Tea Pot Dome and calumny engulfed his aides-de-camp.
I've read the history so many times, I was there if truth be told.
Those images became memories: I'm a virtual hundred years old.