Afternoon in the Tuileries Gardens


There's a
poet
if ever
I
saw one

top
hat
behind
his
back

like a
duck's
arse
tuft
reserved
and
cheeky

back
of the
head
finger scratches

something
in the
trees
an ambience
feeling
for the moment
a
true
wanderer

top hatted
fez hatted
gentlemen
lean
on trees
stand
at
ease
hatching
another
ruse
children play
under
their
knees

Adolescents moan
voluptuous maids groan
old
ladies
glide
toward
their
longed
for
thrones

Patriarchal
gent
stands
alone
he's
caught
your
eye

Birds
stir and scatter
to the
sounds
of a. . .. . .. . .. . .
no matter

Noise of
numbers
after tea slumbers
viral
virility
the human species
avoiding
dog
faeces.