I wander in awe around the city,
Those artisan arches and avenues,
Classic sights along the snaking Seine,
Pausing to admire the iconic tower.
Each day a deluge of photographs.
In the foreground folk pass by,
Parisians perusing, visitors viewing,
Cameras on constant alert.
But what are they shooting?
Is that a tourist or a terrorist?
Is he the one who’ll line them up,
To be murdered shot by shot?
And what of that woman over there,
Posing for one last time?
Is she the next to be savagely slain,
Never to feel her family again?
I focus on the buildings, oblivious,
Framing all that’s familiar,
Setting scenes of apparent peace.
I fear the light could fade.
© Allison Hill, 2015 (including photos)
