Queneau Poetry

The little pigeons full of whimsicrap
used to come and go flying over Paris
giving its walls an exquisite shade
of avian poop grayish in tint
never suspecting poor innocents
that a devious plot waits for them below

now they are trapped!
they are not happy

adieu Paris! adieu my beautiful city
says the pigeon sent off to the country
I will no longer crap on your Hotel de Ville
I will no longer crap on your proud monuments
such sadness, I weep to think of it,
to waste such fine excrement
which could have buttered the homes
of my native city eating away at the cement
brick concrete marble flint
yes, cries the pigeon to himself, I am quite proud
my turds are virulent PH acid
adieu my beautiful Paris adieu my dear city
I leave for my exile in a paddy wagon
I will forever retain amidst the hicks
the indelible image of the charm of your streets

Paris Deacon

At the end of rue Mouffetard
in front of the church Saint-Médard
a little old man waits for a little old woman
the little old woman was at confession
she arrives all pleased
that didn't last, says she, more than five minutes
the little old man makes no comment
they set off again stumbling along
in the direction of the Vatican

Translator's Bio Notes Rachel Galvin is a writer and editor for Humanities, the journal,
of the National Endowment for the Humanities. She has received
fellowships at the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts and
Hedgebrook. Her poems have recently appeared or are
forthcoming in Spinning Jenny, Mars Hill Review, Comstock
Review, and Nimrod.

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