http://www.albany.edu/offcourse 
         http://offcourse.org
         ISSN 1556-4975
		
Published by Ricardo and Isabel Nirenberg since 1998
Enough times for me to say
        I surrender to the city’s charms
        like the most starry-eyed tourist.
        But let the Tower Eiffel  and all
        the other beauties speak for themselves
        while I walk through a long afternoon, 
        along a line of rarely used train tracks
        and make my way into the vastly ignored
        park of Saint Cloud with its grotesque
        statues and fountains blackened beyond 
        repair by thick layers of soot and grime, 
        a nightmare of Versailles soothed in the crisp
        breaking light of this fall day I need like mercy.
        A tall teenage boy actually streams Piaf 
        from his blue and orange boom box, the only
        sparrow who’s put in an appearance, the three
    of us alone and together now, indefectible.
The top part of the sky is dark as Guinness
        but I stay on my bench, watch people scuttle by—
  “quick ambling” as I’ve heard it said.
        It won’t rain, let alone storm, and it doesn’t.
        Within minutes a canvas of light routs the black,
        birds fly from the rooftops, over the trees, bee-lining
        toward the bridge named after an Irish king.
        I’ve spent a good bit of the day sitting on this bench—
        the best thing I could have done and the disappointments
        are starting to fall away like barnacles from the hull
        of a ship that’s kept them captive for far too long, finally.
        A boat carrying alcohol in apricot colored kegs
        meanders down the river, the sky so blue again.
    Tonight I will celebrate, to celebrate.
The paratroopers check to make sure
    everything is in order—so does my father.
When he and his mates say it’s a go,
        my father smiles as wide as the Cotentin.
He jumps into the night and will survive
        to say nothing about any of this, except
how the movies never, ever get it right.
“It won’t be the end of the world
    when I die.”
Yes, but you’ve already taken
        a part of us with you
        before our time.
No place for morbidity
        now that the flowers are starting
        to bloom after the harshest winter
        we’ve ever seen, your last.
The sun is shining to blind
        but it can’t outshine you.
        Damn, I knew it was true, you knew
        it was true, all of us knew it was true.
The pretzels and beer in the house
        are dancing because it’s the right thing to do.
      
Tim Suermondt is the author of three full-length collections of poems: Trying To Help The Elephant Man Dance (The Backwaters Press, 2007), Just Beautiful (New York Quarterly Books, 2010) and Election Night And The Five Satins (Glass Lyre Press, 2016.) Pinyon Publishing will publish his fourth full-length collection The World Doesn’t Know You later in 2017. He has poems published in Poetry, The Georgia Review, Ploughshares, Prairie Schooner, Blackbird, Bellevue Literary Review, North Dakota Quarterly, december magazine, Plume Poetry Journal, Poetry East and Stand Magazine (England), among others. He is a book reviewer for Cervena Barva Press and a poetry reviewer for Bellevue Literary Review. He lives in Cambridge (MA) with his wife, the poet Pui Ying Wong.