For All These Wretched, Beautiful, & Insignificant Things So Uselessly & Carelessly Destroyed...
poems by Hosho McCreesh
"It Was Paris, Those Rainy Old Streets,
The Soft Glow of Wrought-Iron Lamps,
The Sun Setting Behind Grey‑Faced Buildings,
The City Vibrating With Some Kind of
Romantic, Sad Song …"
Lonely as a weeping trumpet,
desperate as an accordion all squeezed out,
I walked the rain‑swollen banks,
hair wet from a slow, steady drizzle,
smiling, celebrating it.
Then, from under a carved & ornate bridge:
a gruff cough, aggressive,
a flash of angry movement,
something thrown in the Seine
floating towards me ...
an empty aluminum can,
bobbing, filling with water
boites au boeuf
an empty can
of dog food.
Suddenly the day went cold,
went painfully, typically
It was Paris or anywhere
I walked for hours in that storm.