a la mode

				 
	but I am
here

I cannot leave

	if it were 1871
I would drink my wine
glass to the floor
I would light a cigarette
extinguish it on the door

I cannot leave

this place
that serves mediocre wine
that trashes good bread from a table
 there is not a beautiful girl in sight
 relegated to a table once serene and solitary

I am besieged

by old women who smell of camphor and men
who compare reading glass prescription
 order the cheapest wine and steak for two! the heavy man says
two! when when they are four
who chews the bone? they ask
 one will surely have to fight for it

I am besieged

by laughter
laughter from underground
the laughter of that french girl
on the underground
after work     after life     after death
she laughed cynically    partially

at me
partially
at herself
 like a man she realizes she has become
she un dressed me right there
 I hid one eye    and watched
sculpting her features
she was Beatrice
I was Rodin

her lips
pale and cool
she dreams to conquer
to possess that way by which all
young handsome women strive to possess
by that way which so perplexes men

in English I am afraid there is no word for it
not in French either
perhaps
in Latin
and if not Latin
then I am certain
 some pre historic tongue
     
  still
we want
we always want
to know     more
how do we go from one picture to the next?
where can we find a good bottle of wine?
when do we make love?
the funeral's in Jersey?
they don't have sidewalks there?
are we going to Paris?
why haven't you asked me to your parents?
how is your back?
have you tried the steak?