Come Come To the Restaurant

Around the wet corners of summer In the alleys of scooter-revving Paris 11 at night A back light herd of red eyes Bull-rush Champs-Elysees Parting for an ambulance Its siren wobbling like a half-drunk soprano Sobbing a song While a man in tuxedo Is breaking plates on the cobblestone For our attention to the menu inside An invitation crushed in a shattered pile At his heel “Come come le Monsieur Escargots for Madame!” We say ok Which seems to delay further smashing “Americans” he says under his breath Smiling He takes her hand from mine Leads her over a threshold Smeared in rain and streetlight Peonies I am left the choice to follow My wife The attention the commotion “I can see your love is unbreakable.” He winks Nudging our chairs upstairs to the white-clothed table A silver carafe of water Sweating at the center of fine china I hold her hand We cut and stab the dinner While the city outside argues Through the unlatched wooden shutters The man Resuming his lullaby crashing.