Paris.

Walking down the Champs Elyse

Parisian women skinny, elegant,

stylish. I wear a cotton shift

fine for working in the vineyard

not for this sophisticated dance.

Boyfriend’s cousins thin and

whispy, strangers sitting on furniture;

antique, dingy walls and creaky lift.

Why am I in this bleak apartment?

Eating etiquette outmoded;

table manners extreme,

many forks and knives to choose from.

I am a stranger to this artificiality.

French Sleigh bed enclosed me

hiding, pining for my

bed at home, shunned by my

boyfriends cousins.

I have no aristocratic blood.