1 b Avenue de Paris
I had come to anticipate
the notes he left on her door
the dry authoritarian tone
that never let her forget
his role as progenitor of her life.
Words casually tossed
from one to the other
yet always written in such
an immaculate hand
that any passerby
(even a foreigner)
would read them and admire
"You have forgotten to return
my car keys"
Or "Please call your mother
about Sunday lunch."
And there were longer notes
which I never finished
for fear of being caught
stopped outside her door
the fishbowl eye blinking back
or his door opposite opening a crack
to check who was passing
(his daughter and I being about the same age
though different in height, weight
and sensibility.)
The walls in these apartments are thin
I know the sounds she makes in the shower
when she makes love in the afternoon
I know her radio station, her choice of pizza
even the tone of her voice on her answer-phone
which maybe explains the notes
but not the Easter egg
that hung from her door for two days
this Easter Sunday just passed.
First Published: Anon Three, edited by Mike Stocks, Anon Publishing, 2005