Paris

Paris by Matt Wall

the Eiffel Tower.
it stands large and erect.
I want to say that it looms.
looms.
but most would look at it and say,
magical.
majestic.
etc.
there are trees down below it.
they look small from where I am
like bushes,
but I am sure that they are tall trees.
ah,
beautiful,
beautiful,
Paris!

there’s a woman.
she is holding an umbrella open
above her head.
it’s black and white.
splotches.
like a cow.
a milk cow.
black and White.
she has a big black bow
holding back her blonde pony tail.
she is wearing a slim, sleek, black dress.
it is short.
barely covering her prize.
her purse / bag matches her dress
so do her shoes.
I look down at my feet.
I’m wearing my slippers.
I sometimes go out like that on accident.
today it was on purpose.
I look at my sweat shorts.
there’s a large hole
right next to my balls.
from me scratching them.
I’m not wearing underwear
anyone who looks could
probably see
whats there to see.
my hoodie is zipped up.
it too is black.
like the dress that the woman wears.
the woman who is protected From the elements
by her umbrella
that looks like a cow.
there are words beneath her.
I can’t read them.
I’m a little too far way
and my glasses aren’t that good.
I squint, hoping it will help.
but it doesn’t matter.
some asshole just blocked my view
by standing between me
and the greeting card display
here at the the post office
in the middle of the desert
in the middle of nowhere
in the south of California.

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