On the Rue Lepic, a lazy cat
sits on the ledge of an open window,
observing life below, moving about
after a night of swing and toasts to
life and promises.
Top buttoned shirts. Slippery felt hats.
Shiny shoes and pants with flare, a man
with a silver cane strolls like an owner
past street art and sidewalk Mona Lisa’s.
He snaps his fingers walking past a club and
smiles with intention at a woman seated
wearing a pink dress, lime hat and moon
sunglasses.
Street cleaners. Taxis. Buses that hiss and
doors that slam and slide, on the avenue
before 9am.
Roger Singer 