This post was contributed by a community member. The views expressed here are the author's own.

Arts & Entertainment

To Be Emperor

A poem inspired by your home Patch

It’s conquest I taste taking her out to brunch.
Legs as long as a day without bread
Crossed and cocked out like a motorbike kickstand.
She’s the Picasso at Sun in My Belly gracing the banquette. 

I’m having the Napoleon Complex.
A sandwich savory and sweet as a girl
you just met last night.
Mother Buonaparte made him this fateful foccacia and prosciutto panini
with brie his father brought back from the court of Louis XVI.
Back then, they only had two children to dote on and not eight. 

I might have made that up to hear her laugh
or make her think about having my babies.
Truth is hunger - not height – drove his first campaign.
He'd been in France eating butter croissants long enough
to make a man miss clean Corsican soulfood and pronouncing vowels.
After Venice surrendered, Napoleon had brunch.

She takes a bite of my sandwich
and agrees that the fig jam makes this meal.
So Napoleon's mom might not have had any figs on the island,
and that's why he invaded Egypt next.
The first was out of need
but the second was out of greed.
I understand. 

I'm looking into these dark Syrian eyes,
wipe the fig from the corner of her mouth,
and I feel greedy, too.

We’ve removed the ability to reply as we work to make improvements. Learn more here

The views expressed in this post are the author's own. Want to post on Patch?

More from Decatur-Avondale Estates