Paris in the Autumn

We got a little lost on the way to the hotel
Walked down a street of cafes
Full of young people
smoking, drinking, talking
The sound was of laughter and connections

The next day we were on the Eiffel Tower in the rain
We got stuck in a rusty lift till WD40 set us free
Then we looked down on Paris, classy and large
We walked on the glass floor watching tickets fly
Into the wind as we strolled on the sky

Every other Frenchman seems to smoke
The girls look chic with scarves, shawls, and skirts
Even when it rained the cafes had people seated
That sat under awnings contemplating
But where are the birds?

Later we saw a few pigeons
Scared sparrows and a few rats also
We watched the French drive German cars badly
But somehow never crashing
The smell of croissants in the air

A city of concrete and stone scarred by time
Full of ghosts and memory
Laced by iron bars of buildings and bridges
The noise of traffic and voices
Paris is always talking

A man on the balcony near Notre Dame
Was he the one who flicked the burning ember
At night the bright lights blaze
Paris never sleeps, cars and sirens
People talking in the cafes

Masked on the Metro
Bodies crammed close
The French were a head shorter than me in the main
On the tube, everyone puts on a mask
Eyes staring away from eyes

We went to the Chateau of Versailles
Where Louis XIV was more Trump than Trump
The train`s announcement was in Mandarin
But no Chinese tourists here today
Sun shining over tower blocks on our way to the palace

The man owned France and built this home
Inside a vast space where he owned the horizon
Fountains. paintings, gold leaf roofs, marble tables, Ornate wardrobes
Gardens, flowers, carved bushes
Aristocrats on call

Pictures of corpulent women and fat men
The biggest with the finest clothes looked like the king
Fancy tapestry chairs and dressing screens
Churchmen and generals show deference to the king
Lend their reputations to his glory

Everywhere an appeal to the ancient world
Of Greece and Rome
Caesars and gods from a pagan past.
The fireplace a room-sized hole
In a larger space

Hall of Mirrors overlooks lakes on different levels
Stretching to his horizon
Diamond chandeliers glitter with light
From a thousand candles
There were few birds in the garden

Impressive stairways lead upwards to
Pagan chambers, marbled floors, and walls
Perfect geometric patterns
Royal emblems and
flowers and leaves carved on ceilings

His bed seemed too short to sleep in
Maybe he was not that big a man
An ornate clock welded into a mirror beside his bed
Time would run out when he faded to dust
And was no more

These flower pots are prettier
Than flower collections could ever be
The pictures are filled with nudes
Celebration of fat young bodies
All looking towards the king

A triumphal column to celebrate victories
Walls of paintings commemorate battles won
Defeats were forgotten and irrelevant
To the glory of France, of Napoleon and the Sun King
The memory always of greatness

A solid mass of people and then the word pardon
Parting the ocean like Moses with a word
Back in Paris on our way to the Louvre
A castle with a pyramid
And buildings filled with art

We strolled for hours until our feet were broken
Saw art from all the greats
Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo, and the Hammurabi code
We saw the Mesha Steele and idols from the ancient world
Then collapsed in a heap

The plane was late as we left
But my daughter and I
Talked like Frenchmen in the airport
Wanting to fix global politics and demanding
New revolutions for a better world.