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Poems of my cousin, Ura May
Reservations at the Biltmore

Reservations were ready at the Biltmore
We’re out of this tent’s door.
42nd Street, Cropsie, 5TH Avenue
To name a few,
Sky scrapers and street scenes,
Like in the magazines.
“Now this is New York,” I thought
My total attention was caught.
My uncle must have been here before,
He knew just what to do, and more.
We Okie’s had respect from the floor.
If there was straw in our hair,
No one seemed to be aware.

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