Les Vieux

Northeastern Lunch
With rotting noses and tweed caps, huddling in thick coats
And mumbling confidential songs to ancient friends
The public men of Montreal
And in parks, with strange children
Who listen to sad lies in exchange for whistles
Carved from wet maple branches
In Phillips Square
On newspaper-covered benches
Unaware of St. Catherine Street
Or grey and green pigeons
Inquiring between their boots
Public men
Letters of references crumbling in wallets
Speaking all the languages of Montreal



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