| Make This Motion Count |

Next Year

It’s getting late

I’ve been scouring the net

for “a fun and friendly French family” who

“cannot wait to meet you”

the new au-pair who

would LOVE to live in your “8-bedroom castle”

or in my own semi-detached “appartement”

while looking after your perfectly dressed cherubim

with cheeky smiles and gorgeous bright eyes



what I would love most of all

is that fantastical coffee shop

(it’s definitely in the South)

(on a street corner)

(but there is no traffic. This is no Paris.)

where I sit eternally (because this is a recurring fantasy)

on my cute wooden chair

sipping my cappuccino

looking up suddenly, eagerly,

to catch your eye

watching you

cross the placid street

pull out the chair opposite me

and calmly


sit yourself down

taking my hands

in yours.

That, sweetheart, is what I see

when I hear the words

“Next Year”.

I bloody-well better be a prophet.

I’ll be damn disappointed if this is just a flashback from a corny French movie I once saw.

In essence, please love me.

Comments on: "Next Year" (2)

  1. Marty, you are a gem.
    I do love you.

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