About the poet
Ahren Warner grew up in Lincolnshire before moving to London, then Paris. He is the author of...
V. How (from Lutèce, te amo)
to square the barricades, the FFI, the jimmying of rocks
from boulevards –
those appareils of Baron H’s anti-communista vistas –
or Pétain; the sandbags, the barbed-wire, the rifle cocked
and gripped, incongruous – a hand-me-down four-quarters
resting on the shoulder of some prodigious tot –
and the trains
trundling out of Drancy, the gendarmes waving au revoirs.
And then, come to think of it, the only part of the plot
Another Country I remember – Yves, I think, remarking
Americans are racists, exhibiting his Gallic amour-propre
and here, on the Boulevard, this black woman pushing
How indeed. The bakers fill the street with un parfum
of buttered wheat;
a pregnant beggar slumps near-by, slowly starving.
Downriver, Les raboteurs awaits my rapt attention.
Unpublished poem from Lutèce, te amo, © Ahren Warner 2012, used by permission of the author
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