Paris Super Saver
Last night I took a day-trip to Paris,
packed a bag and threw it over my shoulder,
walked down the checkerboard street, and caught a bus.

Right before me sitting in the back
were Rimbaud and Verlaine cutting it up on a yellow seat
studded with cigarette burns.

I wanted to say something,
but instead, I burped for cover.
They looked at each other,

waved their arms like wands,
veins river-rafting over their knuckles,

and turning from the window
where I pretended to stare, I finally said,
"Thanks, guys. I so needed to get out of there."