 Midi Le Madame du Café Montmartre February 2008 Tucked within a hidden alley Just beyond the city square Lies a rather fine establishment To which no other can compare. Some may find it fairly seedy; However, the locals do all know For cabernet and romance, It is the only place to go. The menu changes nightly With the jazz a bit too loud; Arriving after the dinner hour, You'll likely miss the crowd. For once the din subsides, Lovers' whispers can be heard Though the anticipation's felt Without deciphering a word. Overseeing each exchange Is the proprietress we all know As the highly regarded feline - The Madame of Café Momo. Immune to flattery of any sort, She silently sips her wine From a shadowed corner table At which she later may dine. On a perfectly blackened salmon Or a well-seasoned florentine. She'll rarely offer the time of day Or acknowledge you've been seen. Yet, let us make no mistake, Not a moment does she miss For her unblinking eyes Catch each and every stolen kiss. Greeting the dance of courtship With her characteristic ennui, She'll certainly bear her claws If any disrespect comes to be. Each one of her divas, Though so eager to present, In Madame's eyes remains naïve Despite beauty heaven-sent. All throughout the evening, Her queens coif and they groom While pondering which lucky tom They'll invite back to their room. Each must meet Madame's approval Or back out to the street he'll go For once the cabaret commences, Nothing comes before the show. Even Madame will perform tonight As the first upon the stage While the pianist's paws fumble Through the music on the page. Reassuring her accompaniment, She saunters across the floor. Yes, those remaining are here to stay As she latches the front door. The strings, at last, come in tune As the houselights slowly fall; And, Madame's moonlight croon Never once turns to caterwaul. See, Madame in her youth Knew the fierce love of a tom; But, it wasn't too much later, She found herself a mom. She knows first-hand the hardship Of alone caring for young lives For seldom do the toms return To take their mistresses as wives. The fate of Madame's little ones Is, indeed, a sad story to tell For the ferals of the city streets Often know a living hell. If you watch her face closely, You may notice a tear, though rare. This is not a show of weakness But the offering of a prayer That requests of the heavens For her heart to one day mend Though she knows many souls, In innocence, will meet their end. Thus, Madame has made it clear As her own dues have been paid That each queen in this cathouse Makes it a priority to be spayed. Though none of these lovely ladies Hesitate to make her desires known, Madame's ensured they'll never live Through a heartbreak of their own. Copyright: Kelly Bodeaux
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