Paris and the Mardi Gras

I walk along the Paris streets in Mardi Gras,

Fluttering concepts written in stone, fraternity,

Egality, Liberty, I wave their passing like the old gods,

And Leroy, my friend will be there in that passing,

Engraved into my memory like words on stone.

I pass the door and enter in, and down the curling stair

Into the red and yellow room, down in the basement.

Sitting in the dark with his dark skin, his bright eyes

He waits, amid the gutters cleaning, the water rushing,

The horns and calls of Paris on this Mardi Gras.


The table’s laid with red clothes, shining in our faces

Red for Mardi Gras. red for blood spilt and time passed,

Red for setting sun and the rising moon on Mardi Gras.

And as I knock at your door a world passes in ghosts

Of shared friends, of shared thoughts, ghosts in red.

But the door melts, the knocker shimmers and fades

The world of Paris that we shared has passed

As all things must, but not this our day of Mardi Gras.


Caroline Baldock©2014

2nd March 2014