The Guardian Poem of the Week

One of the many moons in my new collection:

Off to San Francisco tomorrow morning. From all reports I won’t be able to breathe when I get off the plane. My son says the quality of the air is the worst on planet earth at the moment. But this is a lesser evil than all the people caught in the fires, that just get worse and worse.

In Paris the temperatures have dropped to close to freezing. I worked at the Soupe Populaire at lunchtime and came home to pack my bags (done, except for the last minute things). Last night I went to the poetry group that meets each Sunday at The Red Wheelbarrow English Book Shop Berkeley Books, where I’ll be reading with Nina Bogin in early March, both in the 6th arrondissement. It’s a good group of readers and writers.