Tall man walks, each step is a curling swingboat,
rolling heel to tip-toe, in red-laced plimsolls.
On his sleeve his parakeet rides in comfort.
Paris on Sunday.
Grey-haired man drinks coffee and smokes a Marlboro,
gossips intermittently with the barman,
curses, when the rain begins, takes his coat, moves
under the awning.
Driving here I saw how the road was cracking
Not from drought but lack of long term investment
But, for now, a café provides distraction,
blocks the horizon.
Paris, July 2012
