for ‘Sam’ as played by Dooley Wilson in Casablanca (Warner Brothers, 1941)

You must remember Mississippi—never
call him ‘Rick.’ At all times mister.
Don’t complain of playing porter and
accompanist on his flight into this desert
or think of how it feels to see nonjudgmental
Paris receding from the windows of a departing
train, between-war jazz and freedom dissolving 
like so many Dear John letters in the rain
into this handful of streets and cutthroat bazaars 
on the left bank of the middle of nowhere.

                                            Better
       The Mr. Charlie you know, no matter how Tough
       On Black Asses, than the Herr Adolph you don’t.
  
When she walked in, back for the reprise, you knew her
old refrain, and that it would be your release. Mooning 
eyes and love songs never go out of date. Still the same cold
same-o, a case of do-for-self or die. Her kiss will be
your kiss off, his sigh just a sign it’s you he’ll leave behind
when its time for goodbyes, left like the piano, another
fixture in the bar, a spotlight in the sand, the moat in its
unsparing eye hiding its Secrets Americain. 
 
Play it Sam, play it: 
Because your hair is curly, 
Because your teeth are pearly, white as his
skin — but not yours — the final fade out and Beautiful
Friendship was never meant for you.

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