Jota Boombaba – 2 poems 

​Volkswagen Van

                         “We never see him.”

                                     —Louis XIV

 

Grand chateau, once royal court of France

  now packed with peasants on bus tours from Paris

    —and me curled up in a Volkswagen van

 

Where once purple kings and sycophants pranced

  dancing with stars on a moonlit terrace

    this grand chateau, this royal crown of France

 

Now hosts a daily deluge—trash cans

  full of coffee cups, littered souvenirs

    and me curled up in a Volkswagen van

 

When one past prince fell ill at romance

  too ashamed to be seen, too embarrassed

    he shunned the chateau, a sin across France

 

Like him, I’m alone, a grin with no glance

  never to know a stroll with an heiress

    only the hold of a Volkswagen van

 

 

 

Railway Deli

                     —Train to Venice, 1980

 

Parents packed with diaper bags; infants, kids

  stuffed like peppers in a carriage corridor

 

Uniformed soldiers smoking San Miguels

  strung-up salamis, olives in a jar

 

I close my itchy eyes, dream of first-class seats

  roomy leather arms, air-con breeze

 

I pop a Coca-Cola, pour bubbles over ice

  prop my tired feet, sip the countryside

 

But eyes blink open, burning from the stench

  thin tin can, narrow wooden bench

 

 

Jota Boombaba, when not on the road, writes in and around San Francisco, where he lives an kicks back with his son.  Catch him most days at www.jotaboombaba.com.