The Parisian salon

mid evening at a party a ce soir affair

to which I had not really been invited

but made welcome as a friend of friends

it was made clear too I was in a high-end apartment

a Parisian salon dating back the 16th century

in a desirable neighbourhood the 6th arrondisement

while I was listening I was watching my reflection

there in the mirrored glass doors one of 14 they said

recognising I looked on the way to being drunk

but maybe I was just tired from the days long drive

the large glass of red in my hand gave clues tho’

I saw also the pretty girl I was with who loved me

or so she said whenever the right occasion came

but I could see her checking herself there more than me

& knew clear I’d be leaving her if not today soon

people were talking to me asking pertinent questions

I should be paying for my company by being witty

tho’ I no longer felt bright in that long white room

of overstuffed chairs antiques & those high-flying people

who all toiled in institutions with letters as logos names

I needed to be in a bistro or a workers bar with a beer

thirst sucking on cheap red tasting the atmosphere

but here I was just one more to be networked used

brought into the I know a man who can syndicate

nobody took my number because I was passing through

& glad as I was to have been there to have seen

I was pleased at the end in a cab burning thru’ the city

looking for les deux magots Shakespeare & company

with the Seine glistening black slipping below

taking everything away

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