Free On Sundays!

    (People come and people go
    talk of Titian and Van Gogh)

Across the Seine and into the Palace
tramp the tourists on feet so callous
pointing here and pointing there.
Some stop.
Some sit to stare at paintings
only seen in books.
While statues stare an ancient look
children whine, wait –
then dart.

Do jostled parents enjoy the art?
I pause to see that “Mona” smile
    and can’t help wonder all the while
        what gives this lady so much style?

    (Up and down the halls we go
    viewing Voltaire and then Rousseau)

Yawning men in matching suits
guard each floor of aged “loot.”
Here comes the mob with marveling eyes
    beholding each archaic prize!
But when foreign hands reach out too much,
    a sleepy sentry cries:
        “Don’t touch!”

    (Up and down the halls we go,
    admire Apollo and then Ms. de Milo)
Like cattle corralled in hallowed stalls,
we clamor through these cultured halls:
    dally at diamonds in one gallery;
        next, we’re shoved to tapestries.

Then resting, wearily, in the Cour Carre,
    to myself, I have to say:
        “NEVER, NEVER AGAIN ON SUNDAY!”

    (people come and people go,
    talk of Titian and Van Gogh)