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National Review / Digital
Poetry


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Last Night

If one sits on the steps of Sacré Coeur
     to see the city after dusk,
one sees, too, in the cold, each traveler:
   the silk-scarved men, distinct with musk;
 the ladies in flared miniskirts and tights,
    most often black or midnight blue,
occasionally punctuated — brights,
     or puce, or some unlikely hue.
 One sees the leathered packs with cigarettes
     on precipices blowing smoke.
One listens to musicians finger frets
     for famous songs, of rock or folk,
And smells some bitter andouille on the wind,
     grim and scraggly grass in cracks,
the perspiration of the olive-skinned,
     or warmly melted votive wax.
 Green macaron in hand, its mellow paste
     the flavor of pistachio –
like olive skin one cannot touch nor taste –
     in vain, one fights with vertigo.
The tourists photographing from a tier
     below, curved girlfriends striking poses,
roaming vendors proffer bottled beer
     and blood-red, long-stemmed roses.
As twilight deepens, one will then observe
     deposit, these distracted brash,
the emerald-drained merchandise they serve
     in bags hung on the fence for trash.
Perhaps unnoticed, wholly by surprise,
     a bottle will miss the bag, and break,
its broken shards outspread like distant eyes
     which cause some hazel heart to ache.
Upturned and staring from the chilly stone,
     the pieces render one aware
although surrounded, one is yet alone,
     by means of their green, absent glare.
 Attempting to escape from such a glower,
     one stands, walks to the west, the sight,
the tall seduction of the Eiffel Tower,
     alluring and aligned with light.
And from those heights, perhaps one then will wonder
     in silence, what it would be like
to fall beyond the fence, and tumble under
     this platform — plentiful — to strike
 some unidentified allée, to splatter
     the ground of Sacré Coeur beneath,
and if the dizzy mind would even matter
     to brittle bones, or grinding teeth.


Contents
February 11, 2013    |     Volume LXV, No. 2

Articles
Features
Books, Arts & Manners
  • Mackubin Thomas Owens reviews Invisible Armies: An Epic History of Guerrilla Warfare from Ancient Times to the Present, by Max Boot.
  • Ronald Radosh reviews Iron Curtain: The Crushing of Eastern Europe, 1944–1956, by Anne Applebaum.
  • David G. Dalin reviews Moynihan’s Moment: America’s Fight against Zionism as Racism, by Gil Troy.
  • Robert VerBruggen reviews The World until Yesterday: What Can We Learn from Traditional Societies? by Jared Diamond.
  • Andrew Stuttaford reviews Psychic Blues: Confessions of a Conflicted Medium, by Mark Edward.
  • Ross Douthat reviews Zero Dark Thirty.
Sections
The Long View  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  
Athwart  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  
Poetry  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  
Happy Warrior  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .