TO BITE IN FRENCH Poem by Delphine Lecompte

I once went to language camp
I heard the verb bite in French
And I thought it meant to die
I was allowed to stick my hand in the mouth of a calf
And already sensed that sex would not be as intimate; nor as comfy.

I fell in love with someone of my own sex
They let her go home early because her father was an arctic explorer
A short-haired monitrice said, ‘Tu as une voix forte!'
She hated me, the feeling was a little bit mutual
Every day, I thought of the church in my native village.

I was caught attempting to steal some shampoo
From the blondest and most unblushing camp member
I got a postcard from my mother
It showed a Degas horse race
She wrote: ‘Paris is beautiful. Wilfried bought an African mask for me.'

I once went to language camp
I learned that biting and dying were different words
After the thwarted shampoo theft, I was despised
Every morning, I spoke with God
I thought he was just as talented as Degas, and even more beautiful than horses' legs.

Language camp was not that much fun
The calf and the postcard were its highlights
Back home, I was asked to give my opinion on the African mask; I didn't have one.