There was a  tower, cellular,  and a flea market but no Louvre,
people spoke in accent, the cuisine was Haute- collards
and black-eyed peas-  the cathedral was named
First Baptist Church, that day I was not in Paris.

Still, I felt like I had several attractions to tour.
The river , not grand as the Seine,
that is more a trickle has been rumored to hold fish.
That day I saw a troubador, that day I was not in Paris.

A man with a bicycle and a six string guitar, rested in the Church
parking lot, played and sung a song for an hour. He left pushing his
bike his guitar again on his back, going I presume
to someplace not Paris.

That day I saw an old woman go into Dollar General, she didn't come out for three hours. But, when she did she had two packages she carefully loaded into the trunk of her Lincoln. I imagined she purchased the latest fashion to parade that night down at the corner saloon. That was a day I was not in Paris.

I did not miss Paris. I missed nothing. I had a sunny day, and fresh air,
and a vision of not Paris, that day.