Last Time I was in Paris
Fine rain, open umbrella sit on the balcony of a hotel overlooking
Haussmann - Saint Lazare.A throng of people, but something has changed,
people drink Starbuck coffee and eat burgers on the hoof.
Old restaurants are closing or converted to fast-food joints.
I sigh and drink from a bottle of Bordeaux to avoid getting rainwater
in my wine, Jesus made wine out of water, no need to reverse it.
This place together with rue d'Amsterdam used to be where the posh people
lived and now, safe for the ruddy scrap yard tower, this could have been
downtown Chicago with fewer handguns.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem