16 May 2012
Je parle un peu de français,
un peu and little more;
Bar Deux’s about as far as it goes m’duck,
and whilst I won’t demerit the beret,
I find no joie de vivre in French restaurants:
impolitely addressing the garçon as ‘mate’,
uncomfortable contemplating foie gras and pâté,
whilst the more urbane rave
about their bloody pave,
paying homage to their peerless fromage,
I’ll struggle as a poet
with the mispronunciation found in each flute of Moët,
threatening oeuf on the face at every turn,
as I find that foreign linguistic tricks
can leave one looking like
a grand prix.
Je parle un peu de français • Opuss № I