Odyssey of the Fly, Poetry
Paris, 2015
A man courts me
with a torrent of French
as I queue for a toilet
in a Parisian restaurant.
He doesn’t show any sings
of stopping or slowing down
long enough for me to explain
that I don’t understand a word of it.
He wears a clown’s shirt,
neon yellow paisley tie,
and on his lapel,
a wilting daffodil.
His shoe brush eyebrows
dance as he speaks.
It is Halloween.
He is not in costume.
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