It was a cold wet-snow morning in Paris
I walked along the Seine
looking for my girlfriend’s flat
dressed only in a tart’s short skirt and fishnet stockings,
we had been playing games till everything went blank.
A tramp was hanging on a hook on a door leading into a warehouse,
he said good morning, we exchanged pleasantries;
both hoped the weather would pick up later in the day.
Opened the door and that made the tramp glad,
he was now hanging inside.
The warehouse was full of clothes
that had belonged to famous yet sadly departed people.
Found a long, red coat that once had adorned the proud
if ample body of a notorious courtesan,
still smelling of talcum powder and boudoir.
Gave the skirt and fishnet stockings to the tramp
he was moved to tears by my kindness,
asked me not to close the door when I left
as he had been hanging outside all night.