Common Ground in Paris

On a flight to Paris France
three-month paycheck in my pants
from working in the Sudan sun
now hoping for some Paris fun,
Landed at Charles de Gaulle
almost winter, late fall
took the Metro into town
thinking I had been around,

Had a number, an address
of a girl, a woman, I guess
met in some Nairobi bar
no time then to go too far,
She worked for some NGO
suggested where we might go
were I to land in Paris France
and she was home, if by chance,

Three star hotel by the rue
Champs-Elysées had a clue
stayed there a few times before
up on the second floor,
Took a shower, changed my shirt
despite jet lag still alert
forecast: a chance of evening rain
nothing ventured, nothing gained,

I took a taxi to her address
could have walked, I guess
pushed the button by her name
evening smelled like coming rain,
I stood there, felt like, forever
when are you home? she answered: never
drinking beer, that Kenya bar
seemed so close, now seems so far,

Then I heard a loud buzz
the door unlocked, my brain of fuzz
uncertain what I should say
is it night? or is it day?
Up stairs steep and tight
I decided it might be alright
the small apartment door was cracked
and she was home, indeed, in fact,

She wore what I call peasant clothes
short hair, a button nose
a half smile, a half grin,
she said: hey, how you been?
She'd just been back a day or two
her arms brown, her legs too
she had a bottle of Bordeaux wine
said: hope you got some time,

Of Africa, we talked and sipped
the wine slowly, the balance tipped
like Nairobi, but this time no
flights to catch, places to go,
The rain came, the night got dark
we both knew probably just a lark
but still we found some common ground
two kids who thought they’d been around,