THE NEXT TIME WE SAW PARIS

           “The next time was the last time.”

                                             One morning we saw de Gaulle

                                                himself in uniform chauffeured

                                                alone in an open Peugeot.

                                             He seemed to dare assassination

                                                as he did near Notre Dame

                                                during the Liberation parade.

                                             On house fronts and doors we noticed

                                                small bronze plaques with names

                                                followed by Victime de Nazis.

                                              We’d read reports that Enfants

                                                des Boches reached 100,000

                                                during the Occupation.

                                                                                           “Horizontal

                                                Collaborators” were shorn bald,

                                                spat upon and marched naked

                                                through the streets.

                                                                                     De Gaulle

                                                pronounced all executed traitors

                                                justly punished.

                                                                               We focused

                                                on Paris of the postcards: Sacre-

                                                Coeur, the Eiffel Tower,

                                                the Champs-Elysees, the Louvre.

                                             The Folies-Bergere booked sellouts.

                                             The Bateau Mouche was packed.

                                             Lounging by the Seine, a fisherman

                                                propped his rod against

                                                a bench and smoked a Gitanes

                                                as if catching a fish meant

                                                little or nothing at all.

 

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