deepundergroundpoetry.com

Parisians

Parisians  
Paris is often on my mind, she was a pianist in an unfashionable
night-club had a smoky voice- at least 40 a day- she looked like
a night without sex was a paltry end of her struggle to keep her
skin, the glowing youth of remembrance. Our eye blinks collided
trolldom? She was a hex and I was drawn to her charm.
In the morning I heard her in the kitchen she was pouring a drink
that if water is added looks like milk- She went into the loo and
had a pee and I was quietly grateful it was not a dump.  
I drifted off to sleep and only woke up when she awoke me having
made toast and coffee- She wanted me to stay, but I had a date at
twelve reading English written poetry for a group of Parisians
middle class twits, who would lamely applaud while thinking they
could have done it better in their legionary accent they thought was
an elevated a form of expression and we dumb people meekly have
accepted as a truth, the accolade of refinement. My French, elderly
seductress was from  Morocco and her father had been an officer in
the army who when he came to France was offered a job as a doorman,
a job he refused he went home and shot himself.
Yet I love the underbelly of Paris, it is where the poor and loses live
and if one of the succeed Paris middle-class will claim them and say
they were typical Parisians.
Written by oskar
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 0 reading list entries 0
comments 0 reads 547
Commenting Preference: 
The author is looking for friendly feedback.

Latest Forum Discussions
SPEAKEASY
Today 3:20pm by Mstrmnd1923
SPEAKEASY
Today 1:45pm by Ahavati
SPEAKEASY
Today 1:39pm by nightbirdblue
COMPETITIONS
Today 1:05pm by Grace