Losing Paris

Losing Paris

 

 The village has been enveloped by fog for days.

The world is shrinking; all I see is our apartment.

And the misery of prisoners of the pandemic.

We are sinking into abjection, and we can´t run.

 Do you remember Paris ten years ago, she says?

Well, vaguely I murmured, then she told me of us

travelling there on a bus that took forever.

She had visited family and friend, visited her

brother grave and enjoyed herself.

I had read poetry at a venue and met with silence.

I had gone to a theatre showing a modern play

falling asleep drunk and farting loudly.

I walked the streets, drank in a bar told an arrogant

waiter to Fuck off; thrown out.

God, I hated Paris it, was not like meeting Hemingway.

I was 80 years too late.

In the morning I was ill, had to go to a hospital

they stuck a tube up my penis so I could pee, and now

I sat in the kitchen agreeing with my wife it had been

a great trip; it had been an accumulation of misery

caused by myself, you see, I couldn’t find

the Paris of my dreams

◄ the end of an affair

the slum ►

Comments

<Deleted User> (18980)

Wed 27th Jan 2021 10:59

A lot of French things are hyped up...champagne, lescargot and Paris.

Profile image

Greg Freeman

Wed 27th Jan 2021 09:59

That's some story, Jan! Sorry you missed Hemingway ... so did a lot of us. And Joyce and Beckett, too.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message