Vive la revolution

We step down from the Thalys

at Gare du Nord, to find

armed soldiers dividing

around us, seeking

prison escapees,

or terrorists, perhaps,

and we find ourselves

in the middle of what

Parisians call En Strike,

museum workers wildcatting

shutdowns, protesting

something, tourists perhaps,

Mona Lisa’s smile hidden

behind locked doors,

the Impressionists at d’Orsay

            suddenly available

            for a few hours, anyway,

we hear a rumor that Versailles

            is open but the Arc de Triomphe

            is not

but we find a small bistro for dinner

and a café for jambon et fromage

and Rue des Martyrs filled

            with small shops

and lunch on top Galleries Lafayette

and a dinner on the bateau mouche

and what it’s like to take the Metro

at 11 at night and somehow we fall

in love all over again.

Vive la revolution.

It’s Bastille Day, and dVerse Poets is celebrating all things French. The above poem is an entirely true story. (I left out the parts about the pickpocket, the visit to the police station, the strike at Charles De Gaulle Airport and the long walk down the Champs Elysees.) Please visit dVerse Poets for more poems about France.