Parisian Girl

What a creature
Wavy-haired and slim-hipped
Tapping cards at metro stations and cafes
Flitting from one end of the city to another
Muscular strides and an air of uncertainty under her skirt
Always transitory

Digging
Like those pet Labradors on red leashes
At thrift shops for gems
She likes to twirl to the tune of Piaf in front of
Applauding screen audiences
And flirt with silent strangers on grimy streets

What a creature
Her poetry scribbled on the back of grocery receipts
Her love scribbled on the cheeks of men she kissed
The mark left somewhere between her breasts
The hurt quickly swept under expensive carpets
Always transitory

Only to surface
At some Jardin Luxembourg or Butte du Charmont
Where cigarette smoke hovers above lying bodies and
Children in little jackets run to catch the ball and
The grass leaves a rash behind her thigh

What a creature
Intoxicated on Thursday nights stumbling beside the Seine
Perhaps contemplating suicide or yet another shot of cheap vodka
Aged men she got to taste before her time
She kissed goodbyes so casual
Like an afternoon masturbation
Always transitory