springtime in paris

i see you standing
outside the liquor
store with a cigarette
in hand, waiting for
it to open. and you
yell out to me as i
cross the street to
avoid you, you say
loudly, stepping
to the edge of
the curb, i don't have
a drinking problem,
my problem is with
you. and you wave
a finger at me and
curse. you'd better
walk away, you yell.
you'd better keep
walking buddy. it
seems like just
yesterday when we
were in paris,
holding hands and
staring into one
another's eyes
at a small cafe,
with the april sun
warm upon our faces.