The French Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

French, the People
I went to a wedding in Paris that was some time ago
when the lily white French in their cotton packed
arrogance thought the Arabs they had pressed to live
in cheap housing, was a happy lot.
The wedding was conducted on a barge that was going
down the Seine and up again and on the voyage we
could see the Eifel tower in all its garish colours.

To work on a wedding barge is well paid only white
French waiters, although the kitchen staff, was foreigners
I mean those who wash pots and spits in your soup.
It was a grand wedding and we were standing in line to be
served goose liver which is if you are not too particular
liver from an overstuffed bird. The French makes good food
or so they tell us, and they punch you if you disagree.


But I do feel sorry for the French cherished confidence
has taken a knock, "we are not universal loved"
we, the French who has colourized the world even the USA
president says so and he is an African. They have much to learn
the French, perhaps they should read Victor Hugo again, odd
the old scribes, they saw their countryman clearly, mocked them
and loved them at the same time.