It is really nothing but a minor cluster
of sounds breaking the peace.
A door somewhere nearby opens then closes
evidenced simply by the lack of oiled metal hinges.
A single pair of foam flip flops cross
the cobblestones in a regular pattern of soft slaps
another set of hinges on a further door calls for oil.
A return to peaceful contemplation
until the truck stops outside in the street
and the green plastic trash bins inverted.
Then the bins reverberate in their emptiness
as they bounce over the same cobblestones
not long before slapped by flip flops.
Paris 2017 #49