have low expectations to avoid disappointment

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The Channel at Gravelines, Evening, by Georges Seurat, 1890. From MOMA, NYC.

have low expectations to avoid disappointment

At dusk the Port of Gravelines
is a pastel place. Mauve and amber
clouds seep into a blue-gray sea.
A spray of tiny waves
settles on your skin.
You lick your lips and think of grapefruit.

When the stars come out
you wander along the canal
in search of a tovarich,
a comrade or two. Why you think
tovarich you don’t know. You enter
the nearest pub.

The bartender will count
your glasses of wine with an abacus.
Each click of the wooden beads
will remind you of how good it feels to be drunk,
how you must keep the flow of wine
in the blood, how if two glasses
feels good, three or four will be better.

When two rabbits hop on stools
to your left and right, you’ll try not to show
surprise. You’ll invite them with glad grace
to a glass of sherry, a plate of fried
anchovies, a tiny dish of black olives.

You’ll walk to your hotel avec tes amis
down empty cobbled streets,
slippery from a recent shower.
A pigeon will shit on your head.
The rabbits will laugh, not bothering
to hide their glee. You will scrape
the viscous sludge from your brow
with a crumpled napkin from the pub.
Farther along you’ll find
a fountain. You’ll lean your head
under a cherub’s mouth and rinse
your hair beneath a stream of water.
You’ll climb the stairs to a garret
room, and forget to invite the rabbits
up for a nightcap.

*~*

Poefusion: a pigeon, an abacus, tovarich, two rabbits, Gravelines

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