American that he was,
Traveling alone
All summer with a backpack
And a Eurail pass, without
A watch, with no one knowing
Where he’d gone, not even him,
Having learned to ask the time
In several languages, he
Got confused in French
Between Le Monde and Le Temps,
Seeing the open paper
Of a fellow passenger,
Perhaps thinking of The Times
Newspaper he used to read.
“Excusez, quelle monde est-il?”
He asked the man politely.
The man squinted at him. “You
Want to know what world it is?”
“No,” he started to protest,
When it dawned on him,
His mistake, and he laughed. “Yes.”
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