CHRISTMAS IN MONTMARTRE 1999

T’was the night before Christmas

And all through the house,

Kiki was stirring

In search of a mouse.

My paintings were hung

On high walls white,

In hope that a buyer

Was somewhere in sight.

Nina slept soundly,

Curled in her bed,

A tennis ball schredded

Tucked ‘neath her head.

Piles of bills, threats, disconnection

Lay on a box of lemon confection.

Was there no man to take me away

In a big Rolls, on foot, metro or sleigh?

Felix sat upright, with a menaceing stare

“Do something please. The cupbord is bare.”

No hope. No hope. Then a tap on the door.

“Who is it? I asked;

“It’s Oysters Galore.”

I opened the door slowly,

And saw the man smile.

“Come in. Sit down.” I said, “Stay for awhile.”

Then,

Monsieur Galore entered with zest.

“I’ve brought 106 of my very best."

"Don’t worry," he said.

“I have shrimp for the cats.

And for you this cold night,

Two Afgan wool hats.”

The oysters were opened gentley,

so the juice wouldn’t spill

And in two christal glasses,

White wine he did fill.

We ate and we drank.

Then we sank and we sank

into conversation other

than landlord or bank.

“Your paintings are so happy.

You should be too.

It’s sad for your friends

To see you so blue."

Before he left,

He washed all the dishes

Then gave me two

Big salty kisses.

"Good night dear lady,

I’ll see you again,

when I’ve found my sleigh

And you’ve found your pen."