The Métro

The heat from the métro
affects me every time and
once again I am lost
in stained jeans
leaning back on
smoked tile walls
sharing a cigarette
between four.

Stéphane who marched
and got his face
on the front of Paris Match,
Aurelian an aristocrat
trying hard to hide his
bourgeois roots.

Madeleine so beautiful
no one would believe she died
wracked in pain at only 33.
I saw her a week before
her face as pale as
her lungs were black.

I'm only here for business
sanitised in Chanel.
I buy a crocque monsieur
from a guy that could
if I closed my eyes, be you.




Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 609 times
Written on 2014-08-03 at 19:36

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
This is a wonderful poem, Elle. It's beautifully written, and it captures that way a particular place will bring back memories of previous visits. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed it.
2014-08-08



Lovely memories which can be inspired by the strangest things, like the heat in the métro.
Very well written and so easy to getemotionally and deliciously lost in:)
2014-08-03



I buy a crocque monsieur
from a guy that could
if I closed my eyes, be you.

this made me laugh a bit
doesn't everyone look like cary grant in the dark?

but i enjoyed your pieces very much for the atmosphere you gave us. this was rich in emotions. i see that people you are talking about are not ordinary persons
2014-08-03