time traveler

camus would often wear one of those
mister rogers sweaters when he walked
his french poodles thru the narrow linear park
along friendship avenue

the dogs of course were intellectuals

they were so smart they would curl their own hair

camus did his best to do all of his cigarette smoking
     outside
the dogs would have it no other way

in summer       there would always be a neighborhood festival

with prizes awarded for the best spaghetti sauce
and the best tomato plants       camus always entered
but never won     few people knew him other than
by his poodles     the guy with the poodles

he always carried a small spiral notepad and pen

he gathered recipes and poetry in the alleys
and wrote in phonetic french the sound of every
dog bark in the neighborhood

he gazed into each humid night

often speaking to himself
sometimes in his study
in an attic along friendship avenue
or standing on the old carriage step stones
much like a soapbox
like a voice to be reasoned with
unafraid and mostly ignored

he read newspapers incessantly

connecting the dots
long before the french workers and students '68 revolt
long before the counter-revolutionary bullshitters
left their privileged castes

even before the paris commune 

there was his lonely death
in the sports car of his publisher

--- e b bortz