I Fall in Love in Nice

On the eve of summer

I fall in love in Nice

with a man I’ll never know.

C’est tragique!, I say

A la Henri 2, yet I survive.

In that hour I live a year

lusting after a cheerful singer

who entertains us all

before the Irish pub

On the eve of summer.

A rectangle bulges from

His blue jeans pocket.

A black shirt matches the hair

That curls around sweet cheeks.

I love to sing, he says without saying

As he sings, he smiles.

When he waves his hands,

We wave along.

 

“Celebration,” they sing.

“Good times all the time.”

The crowd cheers and sways

Buoyed by the wonder

Of a day in Nice.

I do the same, yet I’ve come

To a higher plane, an ecstasy

I didn’t expect

On this simple Saturday night

On the eve of summer.

 The crowd swells and shrinks

Yet I remain constant waiting

To see him smile and sing.

He smiles the song of life

As his passion rallies the crowd.

The guitarist frowns to himself,

Exhausted from his efforts.

But on the eve of summer,

The singer stays focused.

He must show us the way

As he leads us into the summer

Of our wildest dreams.

 When the band stops playing

I seize my chance to rush him.

When I compliment his music,

He’s forced to listen.

“Très belle!” I insist. “Magnifique!”

“The name of your group?”

It takes me three times to understand

The Soul Band, Le Band du Soul.

This I should have guessed.

Whether he likes it or not,

I reach for his hand,

A soft warm hand,

And I shake it.

In three brief seconds

I gather the energy I can

All the emotion he can spare

For an unexpected love

In the middle of the street

In the Vieille Ville of Nice

On a fine brilliant night

On the eve of summer.