Monday, April 26, 2010

poem of the day 04.26.10

a new week. i hate monitoring blog comments.
if i ended up deleting any, it's because i pressed the wrong
button...and i'm sorry.

these dream nights at la rotonde

we watch an old movie

we finish a jug of the cheap wine
and get ready to do this all over again

in bed, with the lights off,
you tell me that you suddenly
remember a bad dream
from the night before

i ask you if you want to share
but you don’t

you just clutch into me tightly

i tell you to think about something else

think about nights at la rotonde in paris

i paint the picture for you

the bottles of red at the table

the peanuts in the small white dishes

the people around us smoking
having conversations
that we think are deep
because we do not understand the language

the waiters with those comical sneers
juggling stacks of plates and wine glasses

warm april night in paris
that are kind enough to melt a cynic

i ask you if you can see
rodin’s statue of balzac
it’s just across the street

next to us is the vavin station

if you imagine it correctly
you could be in montmartre
in twenty minutes

i say how about that little french girl
punching her brother and making him cry

there’s le dome behind her
we never drank there because it
looked too high class for us yanks

around the block is the villa luxembourg

our old hotel

with the red foldout couch
that they told us was a king-sized bed

and that mirror, baby
the things you and i did in front
of that mirror

it’s everywhere around you, i say

these dream nights at la rotonde

i ask you if you can see it
but you’re already breathing nice and softly

the bad dream from last night gone


something new taking place
in your subconscious mind

maybe you’ll tell me about it


Unknown said...

You paint a great picture of The city of Lights, John... The closet to Paris I ever got was the version in Sin City!

John Grochalski said...

anthony...i'll bet that version is just fine.

bandit said...

You can delete my comments any time you want-it's a free country, ain't it?