Nos pensées sont dictées d’outre–mer

It was you who said we were ‘falling’
and called it ‘love’. Like the french,
an anxious government in my head
assembled a meeting, stiffening their beards
with the perfumed grease of nationalism.

“Protegez notre langue! We cannot be seen
to have our language dictated by overseas!”

they threw down their canes.

By degrees,
I developed my secret ‘franglais’ :

“Will you get me some yoghurt at the supermarket?”
browsing at ‘le supermarche’ I throw spurious spices into our trolley.

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you too, baby.”

: 01 Feb 2006 17:42 |  Comments (3) |  Report a problem