Last Call At The Chickee: A Poem By The Daddy

Last time, we spoke of developers ("empty suits") tearing down the Vanderbilt Hotel and a popular bar set on Naples Beach called Chickee On The Beach. They built condominiums on it, but no they now sit empty, because, due to a downturn in the economy, people are no longer buying condominiums at 3 to 4 million a unit.

The daddy was there for the closing of The Chickee, and wrote this poem:

Last Call At The Chickee

by Mac Walton, aka MacDaddy

Sunset at The Chickee

Once patrons from states far and near, countries familiar, dear,

emerged from The Vanderbilt* each January to unite, to sing at the bar,

to sing in their native tongue and wave beer glasses in good cheer.

Now,

empty suits huddle and whisper low

so the bartender won’t hear,

the one with blank eyes, no place to go.

(2)

Once families took refuge from a blazing sun,
sat under wide umbrellas and calmly chatted the noon away.

Now,

large men with protruding stomachs and muscled biceps

chomp on chili dogs and gulp down tap beer like
water from a fountain, waiting for an empty suit to
give the signal to bulldoze it all.

(3)

Once patrons eagerly embraced bartenders and smiled goodbyes

at the day’s sunset, vowing to return to this sunny bar, this

breezy ocean, this soft and warm white sand.

Now,

an eerie silence sings verses beneath a wailing wind,

dances across bar stools, patio tables and chairs, saying

time and time again, “Yes, this is the end.”

(4)

It’s sunset at The Chickee, a bow to a developer’s refrain,

"Condos are good for Naples," when even gentle winds

and sweet tradition lose out in the end.

(5)

Now,

Before giving signal, an empty suit yells “Another round”

preempting a final bow to "progress" long underway

amid a swirling wind, above a bartender's cry below,

the one with blank eyes, with no place to go.

“Last call!”