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American cities, on Sundays,
are not properly portrayed in the movies:
there, all the roads end in
sidewalks filled with
crumpled papers, cans
and empty bottles full of homeless blacks:
a taste of Hollywood realism and surrealism
but one must be patient,
for these eerie cities are
even for Americans.
Incidentally it was a Sunday
when I was transfigured into the Magus,
I walked into a corner smoke shop
and changed some alien notes to US currency.
now a drizzling blue light is shining on the patio
of a tiny Italian café.
I have to admit
the voyeuristic Magus
has a Jacques Prévertean eye:
a woman, holding a man’s arm tight, pass by
she stands at the platform
of an antique railway station
looking through the autumnal fields to
Edgar Allan Poe’s old mansion house
the Magus returns to the café
and jots down in his journal
“All this wiil happen in a movie, long time ago.”
hop on a toy plane
and travel through American cities,
the way they are depicted
in bestsellers and TV series:
crumpled boxes, fatigued vagabonds.
The Magus is left behind
still busy with his memoirs
“all this will happen, long time ago.”
can never be properly portrayed:
never, at least, on Sundays.
Photo by Bahram Bahrami