poem of the day 04.15.10

thirty-six

i’m 1/8th french

today i’m thirty-six
my feet are bleeding so badly
that i need
a plastic adhesive

they call them plastic adhesives
here in paris

i put one on the back of my foot
right at a bench
on the boulevard raspail

i’m breaking protocol

i’m being me

today i’m thirty-six

instead of thinking how much
i haven’t done with my life
i’m drinking wine
and eating cheese
in the jardin du luxembourg

i feel very parisian

the french people here
are eating mcdonald’s
and drinking coke

i wonder if they feel very american

i’m thirty-six today

my phone doesn’t work in europe
so no one can call me

my wife wonders if
i’m having a good day
if no one can call me

she knows it’s always a good day
when no one calls me

she left my gifts back in new york
i told her to
but she feels bad about it

i tell her paris is my gift

i throw cheese and bread to the pigeons

i tell her the jardin du luxembourg is my gift
but i can tell that she still feels badly

people should have something
to open up on their birthday

i suggest another bottle of wine
but we have a lot to do today

we have to visit the invalides
walk the seine
and find a place that i want
to go to for dinner

because today i’m thirty-six

i wish a.a. milne
had written a book about that age

because i don’t know
what in the hell to do with it

except to smile dumbly
throw some more bread and cheese
in my mouth
rub my gray and white beard

take another gulp of wine
watch all the thin french people
smoke cigarettes
as they suck down big macs and fries
underneath a warm april sun