Parisian Summer 1973 Poem by Terry Collett

Parisian summer
I had showered and shaved
except for the moustache
which I kept.

Felt tired
although I slept.

Sonya was
by the window
looking out
at the Paris
street below
from our cheap
hotel room.

The Solzhenitsyn book
lay face down
on the bed
I decided to read
the Dostoevsky book
instead.

She smoked
hand holding
an elbow.

I dried myself
viewing her
fine figure
her behind quite neat
naked feet.

Think of all those
famous people who
lived here in Paris
she said.

Henry Miller
Ezra pound
Joyce and those
great artists
and even Hitler
came briefly
so I read.

Now all
of them dead
she said.

Now we are here
I said
just ordinary folk
who like to dine
and wine and kiss
and poke and joke.

That waiter
last night
in that restaurant
he eyed me
ever so much
she said.

Guess he did
I said
but what's in that
he probably eyes
all the dames
that come and go
then goes home
to his lonely room
and lonely life
or ugly wife.

Guess so
she said
walking back
to the bed
and lying down
stubbing out
her cigarette
in the ashtray
by the bed.

Shall we before
we go out?
she said.

So I lay
beside her
and it was
a Parisian summer.

The room was small
and bed hard
but we did
before we went out
cars hooted
people called
or gave shout.