The Gall of the Gauls

A torn river reigns over
Trevor, Ron, and Inge,
and rolls over the cheeks of Cisalpine Gaul
like an inconstant but persistent stream of tears,
never tiring of its journey
but never minding when it’s wiped away,
or when someone walks up
and says
“this is where a city must be raised.”

*    *    *

Clearing rotted wood
and reining in oxen,
as alluvial green fans opening
greet even plains and tree-lined foothills,
ten tribes of Gaul tore this land
from Stone Age roots,
tired of roving,
given to tingeing the land
with the blood of the Teutons.

*    *    *

Get over to Paris,
Even when it’s not nice;
even when the students riot
or the country est sous un epoch noir;
or when it errs in goring its own
black hands.
if you don’t go;
toss your ire in a tin
if you do.
Never return.
Revere the rotten river Seine!


About allisunknown

26 year-old student, tutor, and writer. Write for Also nascent pedestrian advocate. Twitter handles:
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