I will sit on the bed, stare at the wall
different bed, different wall
no appointments to keep, no friends to call
I will descend to the bar, order un verre
different bar, different choice
new sound to my voice
Vous désirez, Madame?
Vin rouge, síil vous plait.
And Madame will close her purse with a snap
a hard bright noise, a compact smile
as Signoret might have done
once in a while
Upstairs again, after mon verre
lounge on the bed, gaze at the wall
new sights, new eyes, new voice, thatís all.
Dance, oh yes, he can dance, and wants
to dance with me, sisters, of these he has plenty, Violet,
Goldie, so fast he sings the names, I cannot get them down,
itís no use writing, his daughters, both twenty, not dancing
now but driving, driving us through the night, after the party,
back seat of the Sky Chief, how handsome he seems in the morningís
first light, how healing those hands, and his daughters, both