Paris (Dinner with Chantell)

© Krista Detor, Cover Their Eyes, 2007

Paris wasn’t lit the way I thought it would be lit
A photograph or two – maybe a chance, a postcard view

But no sparkle in the wine – love to compare
It’s just a city, another city, and paper falls out of the air

Newspaper ad, a playing card, a morning magazine, a candy wrapper
A crust of bread gone stale – an apple underneath the rail
The pavement grayer still, no shadow dancing upon it
And Paris wasn’t lit the way it should be lit

Paris wasn’t wine and cheese, no pretty fleur des lis
A sudden breeze, the leaves fell to the street and down among the ashes
Cold coq au vin, an old baguette – left on an empty bed
A busy city, oh mais oui, and children hide beneath the thread

Bottle of beer shared on a bet, the tangled hair – a cigarette is burning low
A secret kept in empty bellies, in the doorways hiding out
Like pebbles left upon a shore – spit from the sea
And Paris wasn’t wine and cheese, no not for me

Paris never had me singing in the rain, no April rain –
No umbrella to dance under, no framboise with my champagne
No eyes that met at last – no reverie, no lovers’ play
Was just a city by a river and cars go by, go on their way

A red tail light, a passing glance, a foggy window –
And he looked like you, someone I knew so long ago
Lights were sparkling low, the sweet tableau – but was it Italy or Spain?
Paris never had me singing in the rain…
No, Paris never had me singing in the rain…