Carpe Diem in Balmain

Carpe Diem in Balmain

(Homage to Horace, Odes, 1.11)

How can you better say what you now feel

than with a ruby blush over evasive dimples

and one sly flutter of emerald eyelashes?

Here, you sit on blue bottle-crates,

close to him and to the paving dust.

Here the labrador, moored at the fumes

of the four four four bus, wags his tail

at the scent: One macchiato. One cappuccino.

Now look around. Let your arms go.

Let go listening to this boy’s lively voice.

Look at those two who slowly walk

holding hands that are mottled.

See how your man won’t follow your gaze

nor is he aware of the vaporized blush.

It is you who knows morning is brief

in this crude village within the new

city. You know the lukewarm sun

runs its route faster around the corner,

beyond cafés full of young people,

chic in the poor ways of this rich place.

Long as it is the young wait for tomorrow

hold on to this moment, Leuconoe, hold on.

Do not chase future options, just hold on.

Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.

Don’t presume there will be a tomorrow.

Paolo Totaro