Paris is haunting me:
I am attempting to move on the Peripherique
Motorcycles are speeding in between the lanes of death
As we ebb like cattle dressed in smog
My retina traps a millipede of tail lights
"qui vont nulle part".
Then I pull off to Versailles
Where I have to vacuum the boudoir of
She is there, looking out the window
Her hair held up with a diamond pin
My 1789 Hoover delux model P1360-H in Strass
(Today resembling a giant Faberge egg)
Is almost making more "bruit" from the foot pump than
The uproarious chanting from hundreds of women
Clad in black and peasant attires
Sticks held high pointed at the Chateau
"Dieu rendez-nous nos cartes bancaires!"
Marie gazed at her jardin
Some 800 hectares of vegetation trained
To heel like a dog
She pointed near some botanical acrobatics where
The fountain of Apollo and Diana are caught up in a mud fight
"Vous pouvez planter vos pommes de terres!"
But the cries from the crowd only grew louder
I slipped out pretending to change the Royal satin dust bag
I ran up the banks of the Seine
Fearful of my own shadow
Past the Eiffel Tower I crossed the Pont Neuf and
Sat down for a kebab on the steps of the Pantheon.
Across the street the sign of the Jean-Jacques Rousseau Centre des Photocopies
Flashed with the first "e" letter out making it
I walked in and asked for a photocopy
"But you cannot buy a photocopie, Monsieur", replied an employee wearing a
Floral patterned dress with a diamond pin in her hair
Then she looked at me with dark eyes that made my neck feel tight
She handed me a blank sheet of paper and I could see,
With a beam of light
It was 120 grams.