Where I Am

Woke up to rain on my
52nd birthday in a canopied
hotel room in Paris. Beside my
rumpled bed, a warm croissant
and a skinny white candle,
delivered by room service.
I blow it out, no wish
but to be exactly where I am.
Throw on worn Levi’s, a white t-shirt,
and wander the puddled streets alone.
Marvel at chic proprietors
in their curios shops, the ambrosia
of fresh baked bread, stirring
glances from strangers. A deep glass
of Bordeaux intoxicates my senses.
Bicycle bell dings, a spoon clanks
inside a glass, smoke wafts in my nose
like a cartoon ribbon. Kids with sweatshirts
slung over their shoulders take turns pushing
a soccer ball down an uneven sidewalk.
On y va!