Paris street full of buildings and signage

Poetry for Us

There’s a guy selling magazines
down on the corner
by the bar
it’s full of words
like denim and grease
words we know
but don’t love
they tell our story,
the poetry of us.

The fat man
in his ren fair outfit
he laughs at raccoons
he knows what we know
keep surviving
and keep expiring
safe in the goo.