WHAT ARE they like, the Americans? To have
or not to have, that is the question. An affair, for example.
A lump in the throat--de l'endroit où je suis
on voit--or in the belly. It's been seventeen days now
without word from America, from Alice's American.
In the throat or belly, in the club at 3 am, bored
and lighterless. Te souviens tu? And now, Le Coude Fou, another
afternoon coffee. Alice shows her snapshots--there are
six. Him making coffee, putting on a sweater.
Je m'agiterai et m'inquiéterai: je découvrirai le prix
du bonheur! In this one his eyes are closed, fists
clenched. She took him by surprise, he flinched.
Quoth she, before you tumbled me, you promised
nothing in particular, but rode me home
on the handlebars of my own bicycle. Quand il
pleuvait, sous un chapeau, te souviens tu
au bord de l'eau . . . He promised
to write, and nothing. A lump too small
to pulse. Tu deviens responsable pour toujours
de ce que tu as apprivoisé. They're all the same, says Beatrice,
forget him. No, says Chloë, you've got his
number, call. --Garthon? Garthon!, calls out
an American elephant seal who blunders in
from Rue Beautreillis. Ooh etht la thalle de bayne? Her mate
trails, we overhear a snippet of his monologue
on B-b-b-brett Favre. Even the barnacles miss you, love,
even the pigeons and gulls. He squeezes his bulk
between a nearby table and its chair. Call him,
says Chloë, and Alice wants to. To have
or not. It isn't football season.
Email him, I suppose. C'est ta faute, tu
as voulu que je t'apprivoise. But Alice
is talking again, the seals bray, all Rue Beautreillis
is cacophony. To hear or not. You promised
me to wed. The smell of you made me giddy,
or no--made me animal, body, womb.
Comme si c'etait, comme si jamais. --Garthon?
Garthon! Leth eth-car-go. Et pour monsieur?
The steak au p-p-p-poivre. They embarrass me,
the Americans. Uncles I hope my friends
will never meet. He grins in this shot, imp. He's cute,
I guess--he looks like what he is. Alice holds herself delicately
today, she doesn't smoke. I can hear the seal bull's
wheezy breath, can hear him bite and chew. Les bras de mer,
qui s'allongent puis renoncent a mordre dans la terre . . .
even the gulls and barnacles. And then I don't hear
anything. The air in Le Coude Fou turns into
Jell-O when the seal bull stands, face red, his flippers
to his lumpy throat. Too small to pulse. Dans
le lit, tard, nous recommençons tout . . . rappelle-toi
ces bons moments. Young men will do't,
if they come to't. Only Alice moves, her arms
around his bulk. So would I ha' done, by yonder sun,
an thou hadst not come to my bed. To bear
or not to bear. Her arms around, she squeezes.
Tu deviens responsable, Alice, your fist forcing loose.
He sputters, breathes. Moi je m'en souviens. She cradles
his phocine bulk, her tears, his name, and burps him
like a baby.
This poem incorporates material quoted and/or paraphrased from: Manu Chao, "Te Souviens Tu"; Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Le Petit Prince; William Shakespeare, Hamlet; Yann Tiersen, "Les Bras de Mer."
