A Poem for a Thursday #176

James Fenton is a British poet, journalist, art critic, and theater reviewer. He has written many books and in 1994 he was elected Professor of Poetry at Oxford University. His volumes of poetry have been published sporadically and Stephan Metcalf in the New York Times said “I can’t help hoping that Fenton will slough off a little more frequently the pose of left-handed diffidence that has admittedly served him so well, and accept the mantle of his greatness, overbearing as it might be.”

Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful
And I get tearful when I've downed a drink or two.
I'm one of your talking wounded.
I'm a hostage. I'm maroonded.
But I'm in Paris with you.

Yes I'm angry at the way I've been bamboozled
And resentful at the mess that I've been through.
I admit I'm on the rebound
And I don't care where we bound.
I'm in Paris with you.

Do you mind if we do not go to the Louvre,
If we say sod off to to sodding Notre Dame,
If we skip the Champs Elysées
And remain here in this sleazy
Old hotel room 
Doing this and that
To what and whom 
Learning who you are,
Learning what I am.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris,
The little bit of Paris in our view.
There's that crack across the ceiling
And the hotel walls are peeling
And I'm in Paris with you.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris.
I'm in Paris with the slightest thing you do.
I'm in Paris with your eyes, your mouth,
I'm in Paris with . . . all points south.
Am I embarrassing you?
I'm in Paris with you.

In Paris With You 
James Fenton