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.
