Alcohol that time
in Lourdes, sneaking
into a bar, while
others walked around
chanting their Aves.
Sitting with a beer
listening to the locals
chat in French. Nurses
from the local nursing
homes, laughing. Es-tu
seul Monsieur? One said.
I made gestures with open
hands, as if to say I don't
know what you are saying.
She smiled, and a Frenchman
near by said Es-tu Anglais?
Yes I am I'm with the Lourdes
group I said. Ah these women,
he said, they are thinking
you are one of their escapees.
I smiled. He laughed gently.
The women looked and laughed.
I supped my beer, looking
over as members of my group
went by. Another beer would
be nice, a glass of scotch, then
back to the coach, back to the
hostel. But time was running
out for alcohol. So I finished
my beer said goodbye to those
nurses and the old guy who spoke.
The nurses smiled. I think they
had a small titter at a lewd joke.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem