I was parading the Co’te d’ Azure,
hopping the short trains from Nice to Cannes,
following the maze of streets in Monte Carlo
to the hills that overlook the vile.
A woman fed me pate in the afternoon,
calling from her stall to offer me more.
At breakfast I talked in French to an old man
about what he loved about America – the Kennedys.
On the beaches I walked and watched
topless women sunbathe and swim,
loving both home and being so far from it.
At a phone call looking to Africa over the Mediterranean,
I called my father, and missing me, he said,
“You almost home boy. Go on cross that sea!”
On the beaches I walked and watched…..