PARIS CYCLE

Last Christmas, my daughter, Hira and son-in-law Todd, gave me a whirlwind trip to Paris. I hadn't been there since 1954. Naturally, I haikued my way through the trip.


Eating tarama;
Next to me they speak Russian.
Where the hell am I?

Girl drags umbrella
Brightly colored like a doll
But no fun to hug.

Waiter steps outside:
He has to use his cell phone.
It's the cyberworld.

The waiter is nice
But he has forgotten me.
Shall I be pissed off?

Asian girls are young
Until they are very old;
Then they are ancient.

Black/blonde arm in arm:
Two women friends (or lovers).
Who cares? It looks nice.

French Luca Brazzi
Sits down and lights cigarette
Waiting for his fuel.

There still is more wine;
I wonder if I can walk.
No clean plate club there.

Young girl dances in
Far in front of her father.
Who is leading whom?

Turkish tea is strong;
The sugar doesn't change it.
My tongue is curling.

Next to Notre Dame
Thriving Turkish restaurant.
Cultures coexist.

Today more red wine;
Is there any other way?
No. Not in Paris.

Church bells are ringing;
People stroll the boulevard.
The sun is shining.

Old bleached blonde lady
With fishnet stockings and heels.
American? No.

There is no rush here;
Trying is a waste of time.
Might as well relax.

Yawning ten year old
Sits near the Mona Lisa.
I think his feet hurt.