DieterM
06-11-2014, 10:18 AM
Paris and a rooftop terrace,
whispered orange secrets in the air,
honks and yells wafting up
towards our urban garden
from the streets, the distance,
someone quarrelling maybe
or a car accident
or a revolution,
no one cares,
and the Eiffel Tower blinks,
our steel neighbour,
telling stories of World Fairs
and scandalous women in crinoline dresses
on velocipedes,
and we’re sprawled out
on cushioned plastic furniture,
and someone puts on
the Eurythmics singing ‘I got a Life’,
and everybody stirs and rolls eyes
and moans inwardly
‘Oh please, spare me!’,
and all the girls are called
Marie-Something
There’s Marie-France playing
with the branches of the huge weed plant
that rustle in the soft winds,
and there’s Marie-Claire murmuring about
her ex-husband buying
another Russian princess for his princess collection,
and there’s Marie-Jeanne spilling her Cosmopolitan
over Marie-Christine’s Gucci dress
then chirping ‘Sorry’ without meaning it,
and there’s Marie-Laure rolling another joint
with trembling fingers,
and we seem to be flirting,
on the verge of tears,
seem to be sitting
on the edge of something,
never sure whether to topple or to keep floating
Someone puts on
British Dub Step Deep House,
and the break beat starts,
Nadine Shah's voice singing hoarsely ‘I am hellbent’,
Marie-Chantal is the first
to stand up and move to the music,
eyes closed, hair flying around her like a sorry halo,
and she’s wearing a playful unhappiness
like a pearl necklace around her throat,
and Marie-Christine stands up, too,
and dances, savage,
her pin needle gaze unfocused on the city haze,
and I am constantly unweaving
my ancestry line by line,
trying to remember
when has been the last time that I drowned
and whether I enjoyed it
or not
whispered orange secrets in the air,
honks and yells wafting up
towards our urban garden
from the streets, the distance,
someone quarrelling maybe
or a car accident
or a revolution,
no one cares,
and the Eiffel Tower blinks,
our steel neighbour,
telling stories of World Fairs
and scandalous women in crinoline dresses
on velocipedes,
and we’re sprawled out
on cushioned plastic furniture,
and someone puts on
the Eurythmics singing ‘I got a Life’,
and everybody stirs and rolls eyes
and moans inwardly
‘Oh please, spare me!’,
and all the girls are called
Marie-Something
There’s Marie-France playing
with the branches of the huge weed plant
that rustle in the soft winds,
and there’s Marie-Claire murmuring about
her ex-husband buying
another Russian princess for his princess collection,
and there’s Marie-Jeanne spilling her Cosmopolitan
over Marie-Christine’s Gucci dress
then chirping ‘Sorry’ without meaning it,
and there’s Marie-Laure rolling another joint
with trembling fingers,
and we seem to be flirting,
on the verge of tears,
seem to be sitting
on the edge of something,
never sure whether to topple or to keep floating
Someone puts on
British Dub Step Deep House,
and the break beat starts,
Nadine Shah's voice singing hoarsely ‘I am hellbent’,
Marie-Chantal is the first
to stand up and move to the music,
eyes closed, hair flying around her like a sorry halo,
and she’s wearing a playful unhappiness
like a pearl necklace around her throat,
and Marie-Christine stands up, too,
and dances, savage,
her pin needle gaze unfocused on the city haze,
and I am constantly unweaving
my ancestry line by line,
trying to remember
when has been the last time that I drowned
and whether I enjoyed it
or not