Sunday, February 5, 2012

Boulevard St. Michel

 
Baudelaire
 
 
I meet my 
therapist (Baudelaire) 
in an intimate 
café on Boul' Mich and while I
blather about my silly problems 
he stares moodily at the passers-by 
or writes pitiful letters to his mother...
sometimes six in one day!

Now he's threatening to beat up some geezer...
his best friend!... and the geezer's 
wife and children and burn down his house!
At four o'clock exactly!

I look at my watch and explain
that he's booked for another session
and another and another and another
all afternoon and yet another
busload of 
British psycho-
tourists is already en route!

Baudelaire is infused with relief and self-abnegation.
Would I beat an old man?
He's my only friend!
I'm in love with his wife!
His brats call me Uncle Charlie!
My mother made me do it!

So he writes her a pitiful letter while I
blather about my silly problems and the
golden 
evening 
decends along the Boulevard St. Michel
from Notre Dame de Paris to the Luxembourg Gardens.