Another Bloody Rainy Day in Paris

(My holiday in Paris last year)


Who are those handsome and bourgeois people on the
Right side of Gustave Caillebotte’s picture?


Is it you and me, eyes right on the left bank,
Strolling along the silvered streets nonchalantly,
Domed protectively by our condom umbrella,
Arm in discrete arm, Mr. & Mrs. Respectable?

Or is there another story of us on the left bank,
Where nothing on the left is right at all and what is
Right has nothing left and the car-less avenues
Have been cleared for strollers horny for nostalgie?

“Sir, yes you sir, what precisely have you got to hide
Under your big hat, sitting atop your handle-bar
Moustache: is it a cheese baguette, a snack for later, or
Your Meerschaum pipe with a tin of filthy old tobacco?”

“And you Madame! I am considering your underwear,
Victoria(n)s’ secrets to be sure, under your charcoal grey regulation
Overcoat and dignified wifely decorum (plus hat) and wondering
About skimpy lacy things, sheer and see-through.”

Just who are you anyway on the
Right side of Gustave Caillebotte’s picture?