My Paris Room
from 7 Little Parisian Poems
Everything I desire: a balcony
a French door: black wrought iron
two panels of taut white lace
on the door and, opposite, roof tops
a line of chimney pots on which a crow
settles at the same time Saint-Sulpice
is ringing its rather thin but profound bell.
Five flights of curving stairs with blue carpet
to walk down, a lift to take up
like a small yellow cage and the door
marked Poussez. Black maids on
every floor. Bonjour, bonjour. Then reception
and a strange Franglais. But now, taking
my key back I ask for cinq cent un.