The Seine is a river just like any other.
The trick is to always be a tourist.
International detectives are scribbling
down notes looking for evidence.
They�ve found one leg of a cut off
conversation. The mime smiles.
Flaps his mime arms like a bird.
The children cry. His gesticulations
scarier than the heavy make up
of a clown. The phone lines are all
jammed. There�s no talking now.
The tourists are getting restless.
It�s beginning to feel like d�j� vu,
too much like home. The traffic stops.
The jumper jumps from the Eiffel Tower.
Lovers lock in a twilit kiss. An alien comes
down to take their pictures. The detective says
to the other: �By my count, that makes it even.
The number of jumpers is now equal to those
falling in love.� �I�ll see your cause. And raise
you two effects. Ah, but you don�t believe in poker.�
The jumper freezes in midair. The lovers speak
the only French they know. Hoping it doesn�t morph
into a language they already know. A cold street
in New York City. A movie that can�t be edited.
A rattlesnake in the Arizona desert. Something left
out west. �Did you hear the one about the German
general who defied Hitler�s orders to destroy Paris?�
�Hah, if you believe that, I�ve got some fresh organs
straight off the black market.� �Heh. I bet you think
you�re irreplaceable.� �You look like you could use
a brand new heart.� The aliens come down from much
better planets like Angels with Superior technology.
But that doesn�t stop their need to make a little contact.


�2007 by Ray Sweatman