France

11th

“This is a weird, crazy world we live in,”
The old man said
And his two companions murmured and laughed
In agreement; that kind of mucus-y rattle
“It reminds me of the first time
I visited France, in front of a small café…”
His sure voice faded behind me
Along with the porch, and flaking pastel paint
I wanted to hear his story and nod
Because it is impossible for me to forget
My own times in Paris;
The ones that haven’t happened yet