Tuesday Poem: "Full Moon Over Monaco"

We walk with heads back

through the old casino at Monte Carlo,

watching the ghosts of old money

wring their hands as they hover

near arches and cornices

wrought in the gentility of gold.

Around us the fast dreams of fruit machines

fall in a silver deluge,

but we hear the barking roll

of the roulette wheel,

smell the clash of Chanel and Havana

and crisp cards call us to the back

for blackjack and baccarat.

Under a languid haze

tuxedos and silk taffeta

cling to an old Europe

of grace and danger.

But gambling holds no interest

when the car parks gleam with sports cars,

lolling in the lamplight like pampered pets.

We walk down a cobbled street

to the yacht-filled bay.

From this jungle of affluence

the sounds of pearls rattling and Dom Perignon popping

float out on the perfect night.

Riviera-bound, the bus winds up the road

where the Hollywood Princess died

and, as though on cue,

the full moon emerges from a cloud

to anoint the kingdom of fantasy.

POET'S NOTE: The poet wishes to acknowledge The Press in whose pages a version of this poem first appeared.