Oh, The Times Iv Poem by Morgan Michaels

Oh, The Times Iv



She's been to a surprising number of places and had lived in the south of France.

'What was that like'? asked Donnie.

'Lots of cheese', she answered. 'And, great bread. My French improved but I gained four pounds. They refuse to speak English'.

'That's shocking'! said Donnie, who shared her aversion to weight gain.

Also, Italy, Spain, Germany Greece- oh, and Sweden.

'Not Holland'? asked Donnie, surprised.

'Forget Holland', she replied, coldly, as if something awful had happened to her, there.

'What was you favorite place of all', he asked, conversationally, ready with his own favorite, which was Buda.

'Besides Ireland'? I guess Russia'.

'Why Ireland', he asked.

'Horses. I love horses and they have the most beautiful ones this side of Araby. It's green and beautiful. The people are nice, too.

Donnie was startled to hear 'Araby'. It evoked Joyce.

'Why Russia', he wondered. Was she Russian?

'Because I haven't a drop of Russian blood, I guess. I found it so spiritual, so romantic. Opposites attract', I guess', she shrugged. 'And, I find the Slavs very sexy'.

Actually, Donnie did, too, but ransacking his family tree, he realized it contained not a one.

'And, the Hermitage? It puts the Metropolitan to shame. Oh, the Watteaus's she enthused, reminiscing.

Donnie began to find her credible. He, too, liked Watteau.

'But wasn't he from Holland', he asked, waggishly.

'Flanders', she corrected, an unfamiliar edge in her voice. 'Forget Holland'.

So, Donnie forgot Holland. When next....

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