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Detroit

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Day-twah

is how you pronounced

it, my ostentatious friend,

as though the French

were still infesting

where the river

worms and bends ;

 

as if both Antoine

and Alphonse

had a share in

Motown Records ;

Soul Train

spinning a sultry

Édith Piaf ;

 

a fleur-de-lis

the crest of Hockey-

town,  with neither wheel

nor red-dipped wing

discernible ;

 

the Tigers

plugging croissants—

for the stretch

in the bottom seventh.

 

And then there’s Sir Graves

Ghastly, sporting a

Parisian beret, out of his

screaky coffin,

desperately needing a tin of

WD-40,  purchased

across the river, half 

of the instructions

en Français—to the chagrin

of every Windsorite 

around.

 

My dear, flamboyant

fellow, the French

were never the first—

it simply sounds

romantic

to the non-

Indigenous folk,

 

for the lovers of a

Hunter’s Moon,

painting the sky

aglow, like a drunken

Delacroix,

 

strolling within

the shadows

of Art Deco’s

Fisher Building ,

as if beneath

the Eiffel Tower,

 

ambling hand-in-hand,

 

toward the man

selling franks 

on petite baguettes,

a smell of ripened

Brie that wafts

around him.   




Andreas Gripp


RF Image


NOTE: Antoine de la Mothe Cadillac and Alphonse de Tonty founded Fort Pontchartrain du Détroit in 1701. The three Anishinaabe Nations whose homelands were in this area were the Ojibwe, the Odawa, and the Potawatomi.


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