The Receptionist

 France is the fairest land on earth,
 Lovely to heart's desire,
And twice a year I span its girth,
 Its beauty to admire.
But when a pub I seek each night,
 To my profound vexation
On form they hand me I've to write
 My occupation.

So once in a derisive mood
 My pen I nibbled;
And though I know I never should:
 'Gangster' I scribbled.
But as the clerk with startled face
 Looked stark suspicion,
I blurred it out and in its place
 Put 'Politician.'

Then suddenly dissolved his frown;
 His face fused to a grin,
As humorously he set down
 The form I handed in.
His shrug was eloquent to view.
 Quoth he: 'What's in a name?
In France, alas! the lousy two
 Are just the same.'

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