I Choose To Be French

Stick a pin in a Europe, find one place on this earth,
Unleash your chosen kin, ignoring random roots,
The imponderable accident of your birth,
Be who you want to be, fly free, sans parachute.

“No man’s an island”(Donne), no woman either (Me)
Surely origins can be a moveable feast?
Why stick around these shores, Parochial-On-Sea,
When there’s much better fare, out there, elsewhere, off piste?

I’m bored with Scottish blood, un-Brit me, it’s no wrench
From haggis, kilts and Burns, I’m not taking the piss,
Bonjour wine and Rimbaud, for I choose to be French,
(And a bit of Oo La La never goes amiss.)

Lesley Quayle is Scottish, but she writes poems in English and occasionally Franglais. She can sing songs in the Gallic just as well as Billy Connolly can and she can give that Edith Piaf a run for her money with the chorus of Je Ne Regrette Rien. She likes Camembert and Cheddar and has been known to make Boeuf Bourguignon using Aberdeen Angus. European? Moi? Oh Aye.