My mother danced in bars, imitating Jean Harlow
My father lanced daggers at the circus in Buffalo
Then one day, I was told "Go West" and I cycled
From New York to Los Angeles, on a stolen bike
So, I used my elbows to rub the counters
With a Hollywood star who was losing his memory
Along Sunset Boulevard, arm in arm
We lost his last dollars in slot machines
One day Benjamin Shankar, cousin or brother
From the guy who plays sitar at the English court
Won the right to be a year his lover
We went to live in an apartment
We made music halls disguised as Hindus
She was dancing as a baby doll on "Rhapsody in Blue"
She ended up under the hood of a Dodge or Cadillac
I picked up his hat and the other took his bag
She brought back travelers, shy college students
Who could do, two dollars an hour, some Polaroids
She put us in the kitchen so we would not look
In two months, we played all Gershwin on glasses mustard
Then he continued his wandering Hindu life
I went back to live with my parents
My mother was getting too ugly to play Jean Harlow
My father killed his helper at the circus in Buffalo