Oh, you French,
with your fancy language
syllables all rolling into one another
like milk in saucers, swirling
You act
so cat-like, nose up high
prancing as you sip your café
in tiny cups I struggle
to hold between two fingers,
my thumbs are cumbersome, I guess.
I call for you,
Oh French!
Sitting languid in your lounge chair
can’t be bothered at this time
for l’ addición, sil-vous-plait!
We shake heads at each other
you deride me for my crude
ignorant tongue, my heavy footsteps
lugging dirt through the carpet
I forget to realize
someone has to clean
And when we eat, oh French,
you, with your bisque au fruit de mer
Beouf bourginion avec pomme frites
you laugh at my hamburger
all sloppy and floppy
and the ketchup dripping down my shirt
But!
I hear you stole
Créme Bruleé from the Catalans!
And forever, they hate you
But I don’t, oh French
Because, like
pastries and cakes,
with things you know
you really know well.
I hear you gave money to the jobless
and told him to see a play
I hear you cared for the sick
and didn´t ask for an insurance card
I hear you took the homeless kid
and put her through college
I hear
the whisper of your trains
gliding across Europe, like ice skates
my highways don’t sound so nice.
Oh, French
I could really learn to live like you
or at least
dress like you, buttons all
lined up properly
while I’m missing a few
Oh, you French,
Even though you never
back me up when I ask you to
You are still
my starving artist big brother
who’d rather munch on principles
I guess that’s why
your women are so thin
So,
even though we have our differences,
you’re still pretty cool, oh French,
though I guess you already knew that.
