Bonne Journee.

Bonjour Madame, cava? Bien!
whats ours is yours
we are now friends.
Welcome. Sit and take a seat,
non, non not there,
you'll smell our feet!
Perhaps some wine
or maybe a bier?
Would you like la football on
so you can cheer?
Ohh horr horr horr,
a rare French joke.
We usually shrug,
are staring folk.
You always smile,
and laugh and mock
as you come on la metro
a barbant sheep flock.
You always get lost,
ask "Parlez vous Anglais?"
and smile at us,
getting in the way.
Would you like a baguette?
How about fromage?
Or some awkward French talk:
"Tu est Quelle age?"
How about closer to home;
some poisson est frites?
Or maybe a fry up
to go to those round hips?
How about a bike ride
or a tour of le eiffel?
Please visit la louvre,
merci Mademoisselle.

PARIS REFUSED.

He talks to me
About Noddy hats
As he nicknames me ‘Big ears’.
Constantly obsessed
With that fucking harp,
Harping on as we dance
In the disco of his voice.
Spotlights on the floor:
Yolks of the sun.
He provokes sarcasm
By telling me I’m the world
As the floor rotates
Around us.
Does the hour glass ever change?
The salt stars never seem to fall.
The shore bitterness is tasted
At the back of the throat.
I wash it down
With a whiskey that won’t quit.
The bitterness he sees later
As this pincer nips at my fools’ pride.
Paris you lied to me.
Paris, you lied.