I'm Sorry. This is Nebraska, not Paris, Old FriendThere is no culture here, Marcel.
This is a land of peasants. Washed or not,
They sit and watch TV. They eat their
French fries with their hands, and dislike
Seafood, also anything which has a hint
Of spice. They never walk. There are
No buses. They drive everywhere,
And, by that, I mean to their jobs
And to their dismal, enclosed shopping
Malls, at which they buy the blandest
Fashions. All that they embrace is bland:
Their clothes, their food, their beer,
Their politicians. There would seem
To be no final landing place for them.
They fall toward some unseen void.
The two of us should pack to go, and watch
Their sorry spectacle from behind
Glasses of good wine, and food which
Tastes, at sidewalk tables to which
We have walked, in Paris, worlds
Away from here.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 30 times
Written on 2020-02-08 at 01:34
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