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Poetry

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.