NEEDLING

It’s been a long day
trying to filter out the mundane


Remembering the Slovak church lunches
in Paris I had to walk past the railroad track
take a left, a couple of rights
and there it was abandoned it seemed
in that stark neighborhood
not far from Porte de Montreuil
a church
locked behind the chain fence
we would walk in after the service
was just over
me and my Slovak friend
starved the both of us
not a penny in either one
of our pockets
we attended the after-service lunch with glee.

He took care of the priest
in Slovak
and I was the interested French friend
who loved central European cultures
but spoke not a word.

We rarely paid more than a couple of euros.

We were always the center of attention.

My Slovak friend always paid
because I was even more broke
then he was
and my dad wasn’t an ex-soviet undercover cop
turned private inspector
and he seemed to have infinite funds
available to him
upon proper demands.

Broke as we were.