AboutMy mother was a Chinese trapeze artist in pre-war Paris, smuggling bombs for the underground. And she met my father at a fête in Aix-en-Provence. He was disguised as a Russian cadet in the employ of the Axis. And there in the half-light of the provincial midnight, to a lone concertina, they drank in cantinas and toasted to Edith Piaf and the fall of the Reich.
My sister was born in a hovel in Burgundy and left for the cattle, but later was found by a communist who had deserted his ranks to follow his dream to start up a punk rock band in South Carolina. I get letters sometimes. They bought a plantation. She weeds the tobacco. He offends the nation and they write, "Don't be a stranger, y'hear? Sincerely, your sister"
So my parents had me to the disgust of the prostitutes, on a bed in a brothel. Surprisingly raised with tender care. Until the money got tight and they bet me away to a blind brigadier in a game of high stakes canasta. But he made me a sailor on his brigadier ship fleet
I know every yardarm from main mast to jib sheet, but sometimes I long to be landlocked and to work in a bakery