I strolled here,
floating with the rickety houseboats
along the Seine and squinted to the sky
for the tip o’ the iron landmark.
Sat on a bench beneath the underbelly,
but beaucoup de people:
tourists snapping shots into their tiny boxes;
military guards strapped with rifles, ready;
and brown-skinned men selling me Eiffel statues
from giant hoops like janitor keys on a ring.
Gypsy women asking me if I speak English,
flashing fresh sheets of paper saying they’re from
somewhere, trying to get back to this somewhere,
that they’ve been stuck in Paris
for two months; Please give money.
New plan, kept walking, walking, passed the pigeons.
Pirouetted passed traffic and did a plié
to the cute brunette birds with British song.
The carousel !
A nostalgic enthusiast
of old-fashioned amusement park rides,
I parked on a bench nearby; a better view of the Tower !
Now if only I had my hand
instead in the coat pocket of a lover.

^{Copyright© | B.Meddlesome | 04 Mars 2008}