Translated from french poetry book “The Sound of French in Baltimore”
In a small corner of a drenched city,
there is an army of cats
ready to defend the concrete palace.
Squeezed in between the soft-eyed lake
and the tranquil neighborhood,
these sneaky cats strut about
cute and mysterious
along the louisianan campus –
a micro-city, urban yet snug
with its 70s-era buildings …
residues of brutalism,
an unexpected playground,
a Desert that students don’t foresee –
locked away in their dorms
or elsewhere, the commuter school.
I explore this landscape.
I am the brutalist cowboy.
Chillin’ with the cats
Little green rolling hills
Stiff wooded chairs in the Math Courtyard
I am Rapunzel at the top.
But do I want to tumble from this concreted tree?