Working Class French
Average high school
Namesake
A mediocre
President
Imposing square box
Towering over small frame homes
Where Mothers wait behind closed doors
And Fathers return at dusk
Newspapers tucked under
In different signs and languages
Sport side up
In blue collar tradition.
French teacher listens
Eyes shifting from side to side
As we read
In our best French accent
Copied from movies
And old TV shows.
The Staff whisper
Lips hidden
Behind pieces of paper
To keep us from knowing
Secrets
But we know
The score
Girls to be Secretaries
Boys to be workingmen
And babies at eighteen.
School's out
A fight's on
Huge crowd
Forms a circle
To cheer their side
Smaller kid
Is a fighter
Crowd whistles in respect.
Police arrive
Clubs in hand
Go home they order
One by one
We drift away
Scattered by an ill wind
Searching for a place to call home.
Years go by
We learn to bend
We survived
And never spoke French.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
