A roving couple, Parisian drifters,
Are speaking songs in tempo, tune,
Each sparkly note all purply-blue.
They are the envy of each scanning eye,
The jealousy of every young anyone,
For they sit silent, caught captured, undone.
—Though, not by some such gendarmerie,
Nor by the meandering, nomadic police
Or by the Brit’s justice of the peace—
Entangled instead like weaving spaghetti:
Together as one, lacking care or concern
Of tomorrow, or the next, or the next
(But perhaps the next, for
That is when their airplane leaves.)
We are the couple, the Parisian drifters,
Roaming farther from vision, from view,
Quietly whispering, ‘Adieux, adieux.’
And behind us remains all purply-blue.
Jonzo Bandwagoner
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/purply-blue/
