when we get to paris

when we get to paris,
she says, let me do the talking.

and take that beret off,

what's wrong with you?
and that horizontally striped

black and white polo shirt.

are you a mime now?

no, no. just trying to fit in.
look I have these
pointed zipper boots too.

oh my god, she says, packing
another suitcase.

just try to blend in and walk
behind me a little.
and stop chewing gum.

can we get a baguette when we
get there? sit outside
a small café and sip espresso.

I want to write poetry
with the Eiffel tower in view.

I want to have an epiphany
while i'm on the Left Bank.

shut up, she says. i'm not
talking to you anymore.
did you pack? one bag
for seven days?

oui, I tell her. stroking

my new magic marker mustache.