It seems indulgent
to eat outside
beneath an awning
and breakfast late.
The passersby
must be tardy—
late for work or school,
or else are idlers—
but either way
the thought amuses.

How pleasant to sip
the juice of exotic fruits
and nibble breadstuffs
daubed with jam,
and read the local paper
(or pretend to)
over steam rising from café au lait.

Our vacation nears its end
and thoughts will wander
as they may,
and we let them
run along the Champs d’Elysees
looking for Jean Seberg
and when they finally meet her
they crumple
with a bullet in the back
for just one more
croissant, one more
jam-stained kiss