Ashtray by Lalique

your top floor view is really fine
high above the street no sound
except the noise of vintage wine
swirling round around

at your feet my grey slush town
but if the weather’s clear
you can look across the lake
see America from here

love the A. Y. Jacksons
hanging on the wall
love the Persian carpets
flying down the hall
curtains are soft Morris prints
it’s understated retro chic
drinks are served in leaded glass
even the ashtray’s by Lalique

you say that you like older men
they add depth and spice to life
but just because your husband’s rich
you are no trophy wife
his friends may bore you silly
they roll you with their eyes
the older women hate you
for your buffed and slender thighs
and though you grew up blonde
in the suburbs of Anjou
there beats a savage Cajun heart
behind discrete tattoo
it’s a long way to the bayou babe
the winters here are grim
you’re trapped behind your accent
and that fragile pretty skin

you talk of Paris or Hong Kong
and you fly your girlfriends in
they flirt and eye the locals
stiletto heels that snicker sin
and you don’t give a tinker’s damn
for what his friends might say
you love the way it ticks them off
when we whisper en francais.

but you’re lonely in your tower
love him when he’s not away
hate him for that woman
he keeps down in LA
it’s hard work keeping spirits up
so what’s the harm you say
close friend’s conversation wrapped
in expensive chardonnay

you say I have a way with words
a certain rough elan
I always make your girlfriend smile
white teeth and winter tan
Sophie, ma petite cherie
I really ought to go
it’s risky finding men like me
even in a nice bistro
for though I hold my knife and fork
just like un vrai anglais
you might wake up to find
I stole your damned ashtray