A Paris

We are terrible tourists.

A tether is tied to my toe as I float above the crowds

flowing up and down the Paris streets,

and before this dome and that cathedral they

tug at my toe to bring me down

but I am struggling to break free.

 

We are the worst tourists imaginable

and buy almost nothing and tip less well

and all the smoke around us is

choking off the nostrils of the future,

but I don't see beyond the faintest cloud anyhow.

 

I make a terrible tourist.

I am more of a cow

among the ever-changing crowd

that is always the same.