somewhere
beneath the layers of joie de vivre
the Brie and Beaujolais, the syrup-tinted seventies
shades
and all the fun of the laissez faire
an obscured thought still curls its lip
with
your alleged fewer wrinkles
alleged firmer skin
and that haute couture gear
that you wrap yourself in
with your terminal coolness
and gastronomic delights
there’s women wearing zoot suits
and blokes in kilts and tights
like that John Paul Gaultier
and his razored bias cuts
one part genius
and three parts nuts
Jean Paul Belmondo
Yves Saint Laurent
Plastic Bertrand
crap number one
Poirrot, Les Miz
red, white and blue
what’s the ‘must have’ this
week boys
handbag or shoe?
crusty
bread, baguettes, top reverse gears
berets and onions and narks that last for years
Joe
le Taxi, va va voom,
Christian Dior bed socks
and that pasty-faced Marcel Marceux
wallpapering a phone box
comical
toilets
rancid stench
dirty bastards
(‘scuse my French)
stripey
shirts and Peugeot, flouncing of the rules
Gauloise, film noir, baggy kecks and boules
Renault,
Citroen, fromage frais
Rousseau, Clousseau, Bastille Day
chicken goujons, le coq sportif
holes for khazis, loads of grief
the odd revolution, Hectors’ House
garlicked-up luke warm scouse
Bardot, L’escargot, Depardieu’s
conk
chapeaus and chateaux’s, more onions and
plonk
french
connection
kecks and trousers
FCUK
big boys’ blouses
cointreau,
metro,
gateux, bolleau
those who lead
and those who follow
French
cricket, French chalk
French poodles, catwalk
French fries, French kisses
French horn, French Mrs.
French maids, French knickers
Non le Marathon! Oui le Snickers!
so
you reckon you’ve got style to burn
and you say your love is king
but at the end of the day
all I can say
is piss off! It's a history thing
