Here the lapin jumps over
Pots of boiling vegetables
Bites a vein on a chef's arm
And darts through the service door
He pisses on a waiter's shoe
And passes sous la table
Where the president enjoys tête de veau
This skinned rabbit
Looks up the first lady's skirt
While nibbling at crumbs
Some customers who've finished their coffee
And paid l'addition
Get up from their seats
And the man who trades as a lawyer
But paints his dead daughters portrait
Each week
Holds the door
For those he's just lunched with
The cold rabbit surges out the door
Onto Rue de Beaujolais and joins
A dozen snails, half a cow's head
And several frogs on their way
To a safe haven
No comments:
Post a Comment