It's on weekends that old colonels write out their legends
Picking up their Everlast pens and write with an ink as far back

As France in the 1700s and their journals revisited accumulate among the
Ruined girls' lycees, their startled eyes that not so long ago were dipping into

Quiet futures, their wonderous passion, now, he writes of their scared barefoot

Shenanigans, noting a cursive beauty between the lines, understand this is

War, years ago, and France, everything forced into submission, but he does not dawdle and
Goes on to recount how Napoleon also wrote with the same ink, signing
His name to the scenery, to epic battles and then how the girls would pose

For Monet, Manet in their five o'clock shadows, the same colour as ink or

The shoals they painted, as shadows

Of dirigibles over countrysides

And she notes in everlasting letters plied to press paper up there, articulate thumb, index
Longing to press her excitement 'up here, smouldering above, hearing those engines
Murmur outside,' and as the nib moves her heart, the zepplin moves as well, as she
Then blots the gleaming ink dry, before further conversation with busybody friends over
Dinner, over America ignites flaming night
Hung high up, high up in a sky, he writes this down, in more detail of course, alone
Sitting in the neighbourhood ballpark stand, and
Notices a fine ash begin to fall across words just written on his page.

Matt Santateresa

MATT SANTATERESA has appeared in numerous Canadian magazines and journals. He has published two books of poetry: A Beggar's Loom, Mansfield Press, Toronto, 2001 and Combustible Light, Broken Jaw Press, Fredricton, 1999, and two chapbooks ("Traveller," Rogue Press, Montreal, 1999 and "The Other Side of Komodo Island," MicroProse, Toronto, 1999). He presently lives, works and writes in Montreal, Canada. He teaches at Concordia University, swims every day and dances tango occasionally.