The Romanian woman with her cigarettes
Told me I looked like the type who read Proust
Because I thought it was the right intellectual thing to do
And that I probably viewed all Eastern Europeans as former Soviets
Wrapped up as I was in convictions without any doubts
She blew smoke rings and smirked as I turned in my seat
Trying to avoid the clove-scented curling flame
For a second I considered foregoing any reply
Then abandoned that idea as being of the weakest conceit
Opting instead to offer her my hand and name
She replied with hers and gave the gentlest of shakes
Then asked if any of her analysis was correct
I told her I had never read Proust, had never considered it
And that not all Eastern Europeans being Soviets was easy to understand
If for a minute she could stop thinking all American men were rakes
Her face reddened a shade and she took a quick drink
Then said she was not judging me as much as sizing me up
As she had been told by friends much of what she had said
Finally meeting an American was causing her to think
She was expecting a bulldog not a cute little pup
Five minutes later and we were laughing, sharing jokes
Commenting to each other on our mutual misconceptions
I told her I expected Romanian women to be cold-hearted bears
She told me she expected American men to be boring cowpokes
We happily helped each other shed our misperceptions
No comments:
Post a Comment