Tears
Truly, I can’t
remember
the last time
I laughed so hard
and deep and
that tears formed
and fell
and I lost myself
completely in
those beautiful
and special moments
and I wanted to
thank you for it
by writing it down
and calling it a
poem for you.
Falling In Love With Paris
He came running towards
me on quiet Parisian Metro
platform; he was dressed in
rags, long thick matted hair
and wild flaming beard and
broken shoes and he was
screaming in French and I
could see that he was
desperate and was some
kind of lost and crazy fuck
and I stood my ground, not
from courage but from
out of fear and I screamed
at him to ‘Fuck off’ and I
began swinging the bag
of wine around my head in
windmill-fashion and then
he stopped just a few
yards from me and wobbled
upon his dirty feet;
I stopped swinging the bag of
wine and wondered what the
fuck was going to happen
next;
he smiled at me best he
could through his toothless
mouth and spoke with an
elegant and gentle voice
in a language I didn’t
understand; I shook my
head and said something
quickly and defensively
and then listen to my
leaping heart;
he began laughing; softly
at first and then he began
roaring and then ran passed
me and then began skipping
and singing in a delightful
voice and he never looked
back;
I looked up and down the
Metro platform; it was
deserted, I lit a cigarette and
tried to calm myself;
I’d been in Paris for 3 hours,
and like thousands before me,
I had already fallen in love
The Editor
‘One of my co-editors said to
me, literally just before we
were to go online,
You know the word
‘fucking’ appears in the
1st line of this poem
and then again
along with 2 or 3 similar
words; you still want to
go ahead?’ and I said
‘Of course, no reason not
to’
He was older than I had
expected and he was open
and friendly and humorous
and witty and intelligent;
he’s the 1st editor I’ve met
and he wasn’t a mean cross-
eyed, egomaniacal, power-
wielding, ignorant asshole
son of a bitch like some
poets claim that editors
are;
maybe
he’s in the wrong job.
