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La Belle Angèle
- So
much begins with “May I hold the door
- for
you?”
-
-
The Paris rain, the sullen skies
- all
fade away as she demurely lies
- and
says “no thanks” and slips inside before
- I
have a chance to learn her name or floor.
- It
doesn’t matter.
-
-
All that day her eyes
- had
followed mine across cafes, a prize
- in
search of capture, and perhaps amour.
- But
now I watch her whisked away without
- a
backward glance. That wasn’t what I’d planned.
- Oh
well.
-
-
I wander off for coffee, doubt
-
within me, take a seat. A little band
- is
playing. Drinks are poured, and lovers pout.
- And
then, behind me,
-
“Isn’t Paris grand?”
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