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.
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