No rattle less hum –
breathless longer than planned
she glides with the softest
of leads less than air really
Les couloirs
she says pointing, excites many meanings
She knows I pretend I’m unsure
that I’ve heard her correctly
Chagall 2016
Tag Archive: French
I recognized too late
who she was, how I knew her,
the girl from the French tapes, Audréa
there in the boulangerie-pâtisserie
before me, ere I could say
C’est moi she’d left for her flat
in the fourth arrondissement
© Chagall 2015
Years ago
I studied French
took my cassettes
wherever I’d go
would carry my Walkman
partout
écouter et répéter
everyday on the subway
pretended I was
sur le Metro
would sing
with Aznavour
(my back turned
in the shower
my hands like another
lover’s, running
down my back)
trimmed my mustache
a la Hercule Poirot
smoked, opined existential
posed as Sartre would
cried in quiet solitude
painted my face
just like Pierrot
and ogled the ladies
as Vadim must have
Bardot
peut-être jusqu’à demain,
peut-être un autre jour
© Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 