(Place de Dublin, 2016, beyond Caillebotte)
City of Light
the famous corner,
park across the street
stone fountain gushing
absurdly in the rain.
A 20ish waif in
pale short coat,
blonde hair wound
onto her back,
bare legs reaching up
from black shoes
walking slowly, purposely
on the wet sidewalk
as vans and cars
come and go
at the changing lights.
She puts both hands
under her coat
at the sides
lifting them up suddenly
flashing any men
who care to see
what little she wears
underneath in
her secret life.
It’s just her way.
A mature woman
fully clothed with
a blue umbrella
clicks her tongue and
looks the other way
as she jaywalks
behind the girl.
A student garbed
in black plastic
with a duffel bag
is stopped as she
turns to greet him,
hands dropping her coat
so he only catches
a glimpse of what
the morning might offer
unexpectedly.
No sale or no time,
he walks on as
a tarped motorcycist
slows down to take
a closer look.
The umbrellas continue to pass:
blue, red, black, and yellow.
An old man with
a purple shopping bag
crosses with his
diminutive wife.
Everyone it seems
has somewhere else
to go as the girl
checks her phone
in both hands in
front of her.
No calls yet.
The traffic moves on
and still no birds
have come to
this forgotten fountain.