Toulouse-Lautrec in the Montmarte, by Bob Bradshaw

Jane Avril, by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (France) 1893.

Toulouse-Lautrec in the Montmarte 
 
Happiness was the nights 
we spent in the clubs,
our table abutting the stage,
sipping cognac 

as Henri
sketched a quadrille’s dancers, 
their petticoats kicking up 
like surf.  

In the early morning 
Toulouse dragged his legs from under the table
and we walked the streets, 
his chest out
as if he were a ship sailing in
with a cargo of silk.

He wanted everyone to believe
we were lovers--

his artist's pinch-nez
unable to distract 

from the thick eyebrows,
the big nose,

a face as ugly 
as a dogfish.

"I have much
to be grateful for," he confessed.

"Then why do you drink so much?" I asked.
"How can I not," Henri answered, 
"knowing Heaven
can only disappoint
after evenings spent with you
in the Montmartre?”

Bob Bradshaw
​
Bob Bradshaw is recently retired, and living in California.  He is a big fan of the Rolling Stones.  Mick may not be gathering moss, but Bob is.  Bob's work can be found in many publications on the net, including Apple Valley Review, Eclectica, Loch Raven Review, Peacock Journal and Pedestal Magazine, among others.