Paris 1900 Poem by Terry Collett

We don't
talk much now.

We sit in the cafe
with our booze
and stare about the place
listening to
the Parisians talking.

He sits there
smoking his pipe
eyeing the girls.

I stare
at all the men.

Lulu he said
that evening
before we left our place
you need to talk more.

About what?

You and me
he said.

What about
you and me?

We don't
do it anymore.

We don't anymore.

Not after those
he's been with.

How do I know
he hasn't got the pox?

I couldn't not after
him being elsewhere.

He eyes them
all the time.

I sip my booze.

Think of the baby
we lost.

I lost more like.

Born dead.

Lifeless
lying there.

There's music playing.

Dancers on the floor.

Show girls.

Showing too much.

He likes it.

Eyes out
drinking them in.

Monsieur veut le sexe
the street girls will say.

After that
we don't anymore.

We sleep side by side
but don't do it.

I couldn't.

Not now.

Another drink?
He says.

I nod my head.

He hails the waiter.

The waiter goes off
with orders.

Edgar talks
in his sleep.

Calls out names.

Girls names.

He'd like to.

Not with me
he don't.

Vous poisson froid
he says.

Maybe I am.

Don't give a damn.