Congress Plaza Hotel Poem by Ima Ryma

Congress Plaza Hotel I'm at
In an expensive 8th floor suite.
Downtown Chicago hotel that
The high and low life come to meet.
Decades ago the hotel be
A fav'rite hangout for the Mob,
Planning big crime activity.
Tales of hauntings be heard a gob.
I've been here now about a week,
And so far no ghosts have showed up.
Then suddenly, a door does creak.
I'm face to face with guess who - yup!

In my room, no longer alone.
Grinning at me is Al Capone.