Sonnets 
by 
Stephen Denning  

 

A man must live in Paris with panache.

He sports a hat stylishly, while his car

Is driven fast; his attitude is brash

To anyone in a cafe or bar.

Paris is not what it once was, he says,

The restaurants gone to hell, the traffic

Raw torture; the city is in crisis,

Even though its best is still fantastic.

Thus Paris is not a place to be sad.

Amid this panoply of crooks and clowns

Who are having others or being had,

On this merry-go-round of ups and downs,

A man should never show himself dismayed:

In Paris, that’s the way the game is played.

 

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