in paris dreams
suddenly i’m in paris
just like that
and i think, paris
as i watch the sun reflect off the seine
at the place de la concorde
i am with three old friends
who i’m no longer in any kind of real contact with
for some reason or another
age, i guess
they are complaining about paris
complaining about the french
that old argument that they don’t like us americans
i think to show my friends a good time in the city of lights
take them to a bookstore
where they immediately begin tearing books off the shelf
complaining that nothing is in english
then i have bookstore clerks yelling at me
and old friends yelling at me
as paris moves like gray liquid out the windows
too quickly for me to try and catch it
one of my old friends
accuses the book clerk of stealing his passport
there is more screaming and yelling
and international threats
for some reason my old friends are eating mcdonald’s
right in the bookstore
they are throwing burgers at the books
at the bookstore clerks and well-dressed customers
endless discs of greasy patties
that they are taking out of soiled bags
emblazoned with golden arches of american flags
it is like christ feeding fish to the masses
it is such a nightmare of culture
such a sad and silly dream
of ketchup and mustard and mayonnaise
that i can feel myself trying to wake up
from this insanity
as i continue to duck fast food and books
boomerangs of houellebecq
arrows of pommes frites ala america
and showers of coca-cola
like rivers of slick commerce
oozing slowly toward
the waiting, rotted guillotines of old.
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