Gare du Nord

Random lights of night’s end
tattoo the dawn people
in the bar at the Gare du Nord,
crackling with neon wit,
last night’s conquests and
Salut les gars!
Putting a fine face on the unborn day,
Bonne nuit says the barman with a wink.

Twenty metres below
the people of the metro snort and stir
in the plastic light.
Is the night not yet consumed
among the butts and bottles?
A lanky black gives his babe a cuddle
while the Arab looks sideways
and wipes his greasy mouth
wondering if the murky dawn above
will beat him home
to his sleeping wife.