In November 2015 the Paris terrorist attacks moved me to tears, and compelled me to write this piece. I discovered that rhyming French and English together is difficult because the sounds don't quite fit; so I've ended up with some 'half rhymes' and 'near rhymes'. But I needed them to help me remember the places where so many had died and so many others had been maimed at the hands of maniacs. This poem is a conversation of sorts, whereas beneath the violence lies the fact that there is no dialogue between the fanatics and their victims. I wonder where justice lies.

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Last Friday’, he said, ‘I went to the match 

with some friends, but we couldn’t get in. 

We’d stopped for a while before we got there, 

at Le Petit Cambodge on Rue Alibert, 

and we’d already been to a wonderful bar 

just along the Rue de la Fontaine au Roi.

We usually get served wherever we are,

but the Stade de France was a little too far.

We were late, but we made quite a din.‘

‘Never mind’, he continued ‘I met some old pals.

who wanted to hear a band play. 

To visit some cafés was part of the plan,

and they’d finish the evening at la Bataclan.

So we called at a place known as la Belle Equipe

and a spot on Avenue de la Republique 

before ending the night at the halle du musique

where it was so loud you couldn’t hear yourself speak,

and the noise just blew them away'.

Now I’m not easily taken in 

by tall stories of this sort, 

and I knew that something wasn’t quite right.

Who could visit so much in just one night?

So I said, ‘No! You’re just telling a tale.

I’ve been to Paris, and know well its scale,

your itinerary ‘Sir’ is bound to fail.’ 

But his reply left me quite pale,

‘Savez-vous pas de moi? Je suis la Mort’.

By Steve Sholl

From: United Kingdom

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