This is an ode to one strange night in Paris. A place that will go unnamed. It was a dinner setting – with all the markings of a great club. Lights low, waitress attentive and helpful, but the singer was a bit strange. She took the stage Vegas style in this little French club and everyone began to wonder what was going on. She was pure entertainment that is for sure. But I am not quite sure what for. So here it is a poem to an akward night in Paris. Cheers!

It was akward

awuk ward

The way she sang

Staring right at the crowd

No one had the heart to say

It was too freaking loud

Enjoy a beverage and relax

She turns her music up

Through the stacks

Of speakers to her right and left

The tone she sang with

Had my ears screaming theft

But what a soul she had

With so much power and command

Her volume fluctuated

No one had more passion than


She grabbed the mic

In confident fashion

Lights turned low in the Paris club

She came bursting through

The loud speakers above

The club dripped with fashion

Attention to detail

This karaoke

Sent the place


Off ended

Crashing crusading

Singing shaking

It was all but over when I had to leave

It was entertainment

She had the right awa

That I can’t beseech


Or anyone else

On this night in Paris

Just off the boulevard


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