Alexis Dubus: Cars and Girls
You may know Dubus from his Gallic persona,
All nonchalance, black clothes and fags,
But tonight Alexis plays the unlikely owner
Of passport and sign-language gags.
Near an hour of verse would lead some to curse,
But we others we are all enthralled.
These tales of travels are not garbled nor gabbled,
But tiled and ceilinged and walled.
In craft and in warmth dear Dubus is well-formed,
And in characters, well, unsurpassed.
As we travel alongside our willing, verbose guide,
We are offered hashish, clothes and gas.
The on-my-gap-year-show is often a no-no;
Self-obsessed and repeated no end,
But by looking out, the show brings about
A chorus of unlikely friends.
From a hitch-hike through Europe to driving out West,
We hear all of the kindness of man,
And moving from one tiny village unheard-of
To miles of desert sands.
A life lived with plenty of scars to be shown
And happinesses in-between,
Dubus introduces a story well-known
In a fashion perhaps unforeseen.
Far from the sighs of a comic whose eyes
Are tired of what’s come before,
Tonight we hear tales of relationships failed
From someone who’s not bitter nor raw.
In comedy timing we know is the key,
In poetry doubly so,
Here Cars and Girls meet with panache and with glee,
And with lyrical tales from the road.