The Foreigner — K.Hunt

I am going to say goodbye to my beautiful French girl
To her town that I never knew well

In her neighborhood, the streets are ordered
The square buildings sit high and brown
Straight, stiff
They seem to watch me
They seem to demand my papers

I am going to say goodbye to my beautiful French girl
Goodbye to her little breads in baskets
Goodbye to her many glasses of old red wine
Goodbye to the chit-chat in good cafés

“Why do I say that?” says the foreigner

In her apartment everything has a place
Her knick-knacks without dust on the windowsill
Her shining appliances on a crumbless counter
Her books – in alphabetical order – in the bookshelf
Her rosary hanging from a cross in the middle of the space above her bed
Even the closet where I hid when her dad came to visit
All, but me, who will never return

Her brother called me Baudelaire’s “albatross”
But his well chosen words, phrases and rules
Are the ropes in the hands of the crew, who
Trap me to show my weakness on the deck
The ones that find me out of my desk

“Why do I say that?” says the foreigner
“This is the reason” says the foreigner

I am going to miss my beautiful French girl
Her letters, her words, her thoughts, her poetry
I am going to turn around in the stairway
Never to return to the neighbourhood
Never to come back from the frontier
I am going to fly away
From my beautiful French girl