A Tomato Juice In Paris Poem by Bernard Henrie

On Thursday I will drink a tomato juice in Paris,
I'll hope for rain.

I want traffic lights reflected across windshields
of double parked citroens.

weather to fit my mood; the half-shut eyes
of a midnight cocktail shaker alone at the bar.
I'll visit Monoprix where you first bought
espadrilles.

Paris was crazy for Le Hot bebop;
girls two-steped with each other in cellar clubs.
I'll try to exorcise ghosts 20-years old;

your packed bags by the door, a drained juice glass
drying in the sink; a taxi sounding its horn.

I had on white shoes, it was that long ago.