You were sitting
in one of those
cafes in Paris,
outside on the street,
with Betty, James and Clark.
You were all drinking,
smoking and talking,
or in your case listening.
Betty’s voice
was loud and brash:
I said to him,
lay your hand
on my **** again
and I’ll break
your **** fingers off.
Clark gazed at her
with his sleepy
looking eyes:
What did he say to that?
Said nothing, the ****
I know his type;
think they have a right
to touch women uninvited.
You watched her talk;
she had scarey eyes,
dark and penetrating,
and a cruel mouth
with bright red lipstick.
Clark was broad
and had charming eyes,
but appeared at times
to be half asleep.
James was shorter,
but his eyes stared
at people as they spoke,
weighing them up,
gauging the underlying theme.
Some dames like
being touched,
James said,
it reminds them
of their power
over men;
not that any dame
has power over me.
James was your husband;
he stared at you
when you spoke
which made you
reluctant to speak.
Any woman who doesn’t
mind a man
touching her uninvited
needs her head examined,
Betty said loudly.
Others nearby
looked over
from their tables;
some whispered
amongst themselves.
Betty didn’t care;
she had her say.
But you didn’t
like scenes;
it made you
feel vulnerable,
and frightened.
Betty said you
were a lamb
amongst wolves
when you were in
the ladies lavatory earlier.
Whether she guessed
you were beat up
by James or not
you didn’t know;
the bruises were always
out of sight;
never on your face.
Bet you were
the kind, Jane,
to wet yourself
if your teacher said
boo to you at school,
she had said.
You smiled
and said probably.
You admired
her strength
and courage,
but it also
frightened you.
If she knew what
James did to you,
she’d break his nose,
so you said nothing
to give it away,
just put on the mask
and that smile.
We’re all different,
Clark said,
some of us just want
to get on with our lives
unhindered.
He was Betty’s husband;
I bet he didn’t go
unhindered.
There’s sheep and wolves,
she said,
and I ain’t no sheep.
James eyed her
and smoked his cigar:
Clark sipped his wine,
and I looked
at the pale moon
and drank mine.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 2:27 AM UTC
You were sitting
in one of those
cafes in Paris,
outside on the street,
with Betty, James and Clark.
You were all drinking,
smoking and talking,
or in your case listening.
Betty’s voice
was loud and brash:
I said to him,
lay your hand
on my **** again
and I’ll break
your **** fingers off.
Clark gazed at her
with his sleepy
looking eyes:
What did he say to that?
Said nothing, the ****
I know his type;
think they have a right
to touch women uninvited.
You watched her talk;
she had scarey eyes,
dark and penetrating,
and a cruel mouth
with bright red lipstick.
Clark was broad
and had charming eyes,
but appeared at times
to be half asleep.
James was shorter,
but his eyes stared
at people as they spoke,
weighing them up,
gauging the underlying theme.
Some dames like
being touched,
James said,
it reminds them
of their power
over men;
not that any dame
has power over me.
James was your husband;
he stared at you
when you spoke
which made you
reluctant to speak.
Any woman who doesn’t
mind a man
touching her uninvited
needs her head examined,
Betty said loudly.
Others nearby
looked over
from their tables;
some whispered
amongst themselves.
Betty didn’t care;
she had her say.
But you didn’t
like scenes;
it made you
feel vulnerable,
and frightened.
Betty said you
were a lamb
amongst wolves
when you were in
the ladies lavatory earlier.
Whether she guessed
you were beat up
by James or not
you didn’t know;
the bruises were always
out of sight;
never on your face.
Bet you were
the kind, Jane,
to wet yourself
if your teacher said
boo to you at school,
she had said.
You smiled
and said probably.
You admired
her strength
and courage,
but it also
frightened you.
If she knew what
James did to you,
she’d break his nose,
so you said nothing
to give it away,
just put on the mask
and that smile.
We’re all different,
Clark said,
some of us just want
to get on with our lives
unhindered.
He was Betty’s husband;
I bet he didn’t go
unhindered.
There’s sheep and wolves,
she said,
and I ain’t no sheep.
James eyed her
and smoked his cigar:
Clark sipped his wine,
and I looked
at the pale moon
and drank mine.
Four people in Paris in 1938
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