Louvre

I’m sitting underneath a statue of
Louis XIV
in front of the Louvre

ça fait longtemps
le dernier trois heures
quand I rushed, like humanity,
to get the anticipation of a minor painting
out of my blood.
I rushed to see it all.
but tears would not cleanse this sense of spoiling
I’ve experienced.

Goya, Da Vinci, the common artefact maker
you name it, each received
a brief moment to try to make an impact.

the crowd around the Monna Lisa was enormous.
quantifying the money spent on the flash cards
for the digital cameras
for the deodorant on the thousands of people
with a common cause
and trying to compare it to the lack of compassion
shown everyday to those
desperately in need

speaking of needs– thirst, cured by
?3.30 American Coca Cola.
sight amplified by paper
printed in colourful inks that
remember humanity’s one dominant image.
spirituality addressed by
the flaunting of hundreds of crucifixes,
Qur?ans and deities of the Egyptians.

we are a flock.
we are a pack,
like those hunting hounds in that
random extremely large tapestry.
we came, we killed, we are content.

now, we wander off to some other corner of the planet
and track down some other object imperialism
oppression, racism and injustice has afforded us
the ability to experience.

the token ability for the unemployed to experience it all
for free
is sort of like their ability to experience
their daily intolerable existences:
we are a compassionate society
so we only let some experience this place that way.

there is more gluttony here in my own hands.
there is gras hanging from the hamstrings
of countless rude foreigners.
they have no intention of being rude,
just like they have no intention of
electing another evil dictator.
but they do.
but they are.
I feel ashamed for feeling pride for speaking the language.
I feel it justifies my tourism tenfold.

but secretly, as I pushed my own way
through incredibly desolate rooms,
I too felt the awakening
the sense that while my poetic ability
to document these feelings is immature
my human ability to be awed and stricken
with grand moments of human history
is tuned accurately.

that so much wonder is crowded into this massive palace
feels shameful.
that so many, and yet so few,
ever get a chance to experience it shows
my future unfolding.

I will contemplate bringing the underprivileged here.
it is their common past aussi.

and so,
my visit to the Louvre
ends with a walk up a spiral staircase.
I’m joined by four Americans.
they likely come from Ohio, maybe Kansas.
while the climb is an effortless twenty seconds,
they exhale in exclamation,
“Oh, over there is the escalator!”

after all, we shouldn’t be required to work for our joy.
Just give it to us and be done with.