The Train to Bordeaux
left Paris under delays from a Metro
slowdown, a Yellow Vest street action,
and a heat wave of 42 degrees Celsius
that perhaps caused the Arras diversion
due to an announced ‘obstacle’
on the tracks, a could-be jump.
German newlyweds across from us,
red and happy, brimmed with cold beer
downed in the station patio sun. As the train
passed Poitiers, gateway to the South,
I dreamt of a chilled Pineau des Charentes
with a bit of goat cheese and rough bread.
It would have cooled me, allowed escape
from the heat in the train, a hot tin can
traveling like a catapult shot—
322 kilometers per with the AC kaput.
Bailing at Bordeaux Saint-Jean station
we took a misstep and lost luggage,
luggage left by the Found Objects window.
Our cabbie railed against the bad SNCF
signage and demanded we dine
at Le Michele before the rainstorm.
He left us on the terrace
and sped away. We ate confit de canard
and pureed potatoes and two rounds
of Graves until the sky broke and rain
gave us a cold shower while we cut
the Camembert and laughed at our luck.
Alone in a Paris Hotel
Blue smell of a Gitane seeping
through the walls.
Fading whine of a motorbike
from the street.
School children’s voices rising,
the rumble of a metro underground.
A door-click in the hall,
footsteps falling away.
I’m awake too early.
Making my way to the toilet
I spy the bill
slipped under the door.
Message of nameless dread.
She’s gone.
I already knew,
her absence felt
without feeling the bed hollow in the dark.
Computer clicks, dawn work.
Will she miss me?
Down the long floral alley of the old hotel,
straight steps,
the brass elevator opens.
An Ethiopian, a Quebeçois,
my bay rum, her lotion,
three floors we descend.
All take the arcade to the café.
Breakfast for three, monsieur?
No, merci.
In Paris it’s raining.
Steady drops, soaking, falling.
Fries/Frites
Sometimes when I feel blue
I realize all I need
is a greasy cornet of frites—
You know French Fries.
Lavanda Augusta Folia
Bee and butterfly
buzz these blossoms,
blossoms blooming to Provençal height.
Smell the summer herbs,
rosemary, lavender and thyme.
Recall our cool white wine in the garden.
Our Scent, Your Hands
–after Gael Turnbull
Like in a secret hideout,
the sky barely seen thru this leaf pile,
the pulse of cut lavender tickling
our noses—waves of summer,
as are your fingers, their key board rhyme,
in stretches, pinches, slow tugs,
a digital dance, a circling scent,
in the quiet of our nest.
—About the Author—
Mike Lewis-Beck writes from Iowa City. He has had pieces accepted for American Journal of Poetry, Alexandria Quarterly, Apalachee Review, Aromatica Poetica, Big Windows Review, Birdseed, Black Bough, Black Coffee Review, Blue Collar Review, Bluestem, Cider Press Review, Columba, Cortland Review, Chariton Review, Eastern Iowa Review,Ekphrastic Review, Frogmore Papers, Guesthouse, Heavy Feather Review, I-70 Review, Inquisitive Eater, MockingHeart Review, Pennine Platform, Pilgrimage, Pure Slush, Rootstalk, Seminary Ridge Review, Southword, the tiny journal, Turtle Island Review and Wapsipinicon Almanac, among other venues. He has two books of poetry, Rural Routes, and Shorter and Sweeter, published by Alexandria Quarterly Press.
For a taste of his fiction, check out “Wanting.”
—About the Image—
DALL-E input:
An illustration of a man sitting on a hot, speeding train to Bordeaux and dreaming of Pineau des Charentes, goat cheese, and bread.
ChatGPT description of what it thinks it made:
The image depicts a man sitting on a hot, speeding train heading towards Bordeaux. The train’s interior is sweltering, with warm tones highlighting the oppressive heat. The man, sitting by the window, is lost in a daydream, where cool, refreshing images of Pineau des Charentes, goat cheese, and rustic bread float before him, providing a stark contrast to the heat inside the train. The exterior shows the train speeding through the countryside, enhancing the sense of motion and the man’s desire for escape.
(Unbiased) Be My AI description:
The image is an artistic illustration of the interior of a vintage train carriage. Inside the carriage, there are four passengers. On the left side, three people are seated together: a man wearing a hat and two women. They appear to be engaged in conversation. On the right side, a man is sitting alone, looking out the window. He is wearing a white shirt with a red tie and has a thought bubble above his head containing images of grapes, a bottle, and a piece of cheese, suggesting he is thinking about wine and food. The window next to him shows a scenic view of a vineyard with a goat walking along the tracks. The sun is shining brightly, casting rays across the landscape. On the table in front of the man, there is a bottle labeled “Pineau des Charentes” and a block of cheese with a slice cut from it. The sign above the door at the end of the carriage reads “Bordeaux,” indicating the train’s destination or origin. The overall color scheme of the illustration is warm, with shades of brown and gold, giving it a nostalgic and vintage feel.