Fist fights break out! Tourists scuffle as
Women in bright blue pants strike fast
With pastry trays and unforgiving eyes,
They take chairs from children too weak to cry.
That new journal Molly brought,
The pink one with the Sharpie scribbles
Looks ten years old, looks ancient,
Like Hammurabi’s code, stolen
From the Louvre of my dreams.
The white sugar floats atop cream clouds,
Triumphant in its granular glory,
Sweet cumulus clouds floating
Above blue mountain beans brought to Paris by pirates.
Jean wrote “Brown” on my cup–
Which may or may not be French
For “Ron” in the loudest, most crowded Starbucks
In the world, Starbucks Opéra.
When I die (or leave for Notre Dame),
I will bequeath my treasured chair,
Like Louis XIV, the other Sun King.
We pass down our divinity
With a chair, a table, and two sugars.
