
Many thanks to Bindweed, an online literary journal, for publishing the follow two poems — two more from my series about my travels through Europe in 1980. That’s me in the middle, between Chino and Abel, with the eponymous Volkswagen van behind us.
Volkswagen Van
“We never see him.” —Louis XIV
Grand chateau, once royal court of France
now packed with peasants on bus tours from Paris
—and me curled up in a Volkswagen van
.
Where once purple kings and sycophants pranced
dancing with stars on a moonlit terrace
this grand chateau, this royal crown of France
.
Now hosts a daily deluge—trash cans
full of coffee cups, littered souvenirs
and me curled up in a Volkswagen van
.
When one past prince fell ill at romance
too ashamed to be seen, too embarrassed
he shunned the chateau, a sin across France
.
Like him, I’m alone, a grin with no glance
never to know a stroll with an heiress
only the hold of a Volkswagen van
.
.
Railway Deli
—Train to Venice, 1980
Parents packed with diaper bags; infants, kids
stuffed like peppers in a carriage corridor
.
Uniformed soldiers smoking San Miguels
strung-up salamis, olives in a jar
.
I close my itchy eyes, dream of first-class seats
roomy leather arms, air-con breeze
.
I pop a Coca-Cola, pour bubbles over ice
prop my tired feet, sip the countryside
.
But eyes blink open, burning from the stench
thin tin can, narrow wooden bench
.