The Gaslight Hotel

Part Two-- My Secret Life
　
For having such confidence on stage read-
ing my poetry, I am awfully confused off of it.

But who wouldn't be confident wearing a
palepink shirt and tight linen tannish pants,
highboots with bright yellow buckles, a black
velvet jacket and a long red scarf?

--- being the star of the Montmartre district.

Now my secret life is full of question marks.

This isn’t like having to decide for a girl who
comes in the drug store whether I should
make her soda with vanilla or strawberry
ice cream, or whether I had jerked off too
many times in the back storeroom for Mis-
ter Bern not to notice.

If I give all of this up, I can’t press the re-
wind button. Do I tempt Fate by leaving
Paris and going to Montreal? Do I suffer
the consequences of not knowing better,
and well, the lady known as V?

Yet, here, there are critics who find flaws
in everyone I do-- and that’s their job. Oh,
these are people who come to the show and
later write in their columns how I had made
a nice hip snap during an octave but was en-
tirely flat dull reciting a poem based on a
aunt's love for her nephew--

and then they bring up the fear that my ass
will not retain it's lovely shape for long with
all the sweets brought back to my dressing
room after my show; that I will soon have
to disguise a bubble butt by discarding my
tight tannish linen pants for a more loose
and fluffy pair.

I wouldn't have that in Montreal.

One mention that my ass was getting bigger
and here comes a momentum that takes on
a life of its own, and all of a sudden, a great
performer can go from being sensational to
being just another brick in the wall, just one
more stage poet with a fat ass.

That wouldn't happen in Montreal.

I think if I leave Paris I will teach other up
and coming stage poets just begining their
careers a valuable lesson-- don’t make all the
critics start to question you, or they will pounce.
If you’re in their good graces, you have to take
advan-tage of the small window of opportunity--
by honing your poetry skills and by offering
blow jobs.

That wouldn't happen in Montreal

Right now I'm leaning toward that Canadian
city and giving up poetry altogether and giv-
ing up all this fruity stage performing.

But can I find Veronique?

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