Martin Sonenberg
A French childhood
-- Mummy, why have you locked me out?
-- Parce que tu n’étais pas sage.
-- But it’s cold out here,
And I never said what you thought.
I see the giant butcher
With the kindly-sinister voice
-- Well that’s Christmas sorted out,
He chuckles as he hacks horse-flesh.
Outside, the brutal suburb
With minced pig in its stomach
Murders with a smile
And never says what it thinks.
There is too much dark here
And besides it smells of cats
-- Minet, minet, minet,
Cries the concierge, then
-- Little boy what are you doing
Asleep on the stairs?
-- Ah, je ne sais pas, Madame;
The wrong time, the wrong country
And no-one ever says what they think.
Page(s) 38
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