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| 'Eiffel Tower' Caroline Gogh |
She tells me of her weekend,
on the island,
the girls that went with her
stuffing high-fashion gowns
into overnight bags
to the house of the arms dealer,
We were like heifers,
she said,
we helicoptered in
men could take our favors,
more gowns to choose from
we could be jumped at any moment.
They followed me for a week,
when I went to Tripoli.
I only slept with his brother
in a compound,
guarded by wolves.
Littered about her simple room
ankle deep, she wades through
heaps of clothes,
all the houses of Paris.
On her countertop
thousand frank notes piled deep
gifts from her men
to and from the health spa,
cab-fares home.
from an exercise club
nearLuxembourg Gardens,
champagne and profiteroles
at Brasserie Balzar.
She let down
that desire to convince
it was simply goodbye to her prince,
on the sidewalk.
I saw how tough she was
as she talked about an infection
she was fighting,
some nerd in the rest room at Maxim's,
put his finger into her.
Unsure
how she fit
into a dress that needed
alteration.
Don't look, she said, as she dropped
everything she was wearing.
Her nose
appeared flattened.
A fighter
in a modern city.
