Market in Marseilles

A girl half my age propositioned me
Along the Vieux-Port late last night. She spoke
In French but got her point across. I’m broke,
I shrugged, though my pockets bulged, and she

Seemed relieved. I looked for the bastard behind
It all. No one. Then three stories above the ground
That same girl with thirty years and pounds
Looked out—voilà. Daybreak now, boats lined

Along the pier, fresh catch caught, and her daughter
Who knows where. Fishermen clean their treasure,
Live squid flopping, an octopus in the measure,
The smell of dead fish floating in the water.

About the author

Stephen Harvey explores the overlap of poetry and medicine as an Assistant Professor of Anesthesiology at Vanderbilt University (getting sleepy yet?). He travels with…

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Issue 11 · January 2011

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