The Wet Room
Had Israeli posters
Advertising toothpaste
Whilst showering
These posters remained
Uninterested in me
On the final day
I travelled around
The city alone
As many do
The Metro Odeon
Is quite ornate
But it feels
Modern
In the street
It was thirty-two degrees
Hot enough for June
Was a movie
Made in the sixties
You should have
Been here in September
Which is three days
Away
In the distance
Notre Dame
Smoulders in the heat
People are still weeping
Into their cameras
As I walk along
The tree lined
Avenue
I look at the shuttered
Apartments
And wonder
About the illicit
Fucking
Taking place
In the cool
High Rooms
Only the shadowy
Trees
Know the truth
I stop and look
Around me
I have discovered
The happiness of
The last few days
What lies in front
Of me I wonder
But this thought
Soon fades
As I cross
The Green Avenue
Without injury
The Bouquinistes of Paris
Sell books
And other items
From
Green Book Boxes
I intend
To buy a book
That is saturated
With the juices
Of the city
I find a paperback
Nexus
By Henry Miller
He lived in Paris
Many years ago
And fucked her dry
I not know
If that is true
But it is
A nice thought
Today the city
Is fucking me dry
As it is so hot
I find a café
Not far from Our Lady
Coca Cola
With ice
Is irresponsible
But refreshing
A elderly woman
Still chic
Collapses in the heat
But she is soon
Revived
That was the only
Incident
That shocked me
I was happy
The city was happy
Little did we know
That it was
Beginning to fade