I remember little else of that evening
at Chez Maurice, the Paris skyline
a gaudy tapestry of
sequined stars and neon lights.
Was it overindulgence of the Pinot-noir?
What was the year – 1999? Or perhaps
the dare-you-to-try escargot?
It simply refused to go down.
Four hours later in the ER
Nurse Attitude scoffed at the sight
of another tourist unaccustomed
to the delicacies of French cuisine.
I remember the way she glared at me
Parlez-vous Francais? Non?
(my stomach spinning out of control
at the scent of sterilized floors).
I remember the doctor talking to you –
your words, food poisoning, barely audible,
a prescription being filled, an old
wheelchair groaning beneath my weight,
And all those forms surrendered to
Nurse Attitude; and you, laughing
as my stomach, in defiance,
empties to her grumpy merci.
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