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France is so civilized - poem 10 - version 1

I've known all sorts of people,
Jean Lamer outliving a windowpane shattering self- destructing house,
always with ruffled hair, with china blue eyes,
calling my dad '' émile my brother'',
wailing when time was coming for taking leave;
Lili, the untidy matelot, who had met ample-breasted Brigitte Bardot in his young days,
also living in a derelict home,
enjoying sprees and extendable drinks;
Henri, my uncle, my father's brother,
living in a dark room, not in a house,
unmarried, unmatched, unhappy :
don't tell anyone - it's a secret -  but he died of cirrhosis;
there was also Germaine and Albert,
she a talker, he a communist,
casual drinkers
living in a dwelling with uncared-for garden, rue jean jaurès.
Once a little drunk,
albert would start off on one of his political absurd monologue,
contradicting someone he seemed to see whereas i didn't.
Germaine all that while had kept on talking to my father or my mother,
if she had agreed to come.

1 Jun 07

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Le réalité et toi, vous ne vous entendez pas, n'est-ce pas?
 — banditfemme

c'est un souvenir d'enfance, il y a bien longtemps mais les gens survivent
 — greenmantle

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