What's Sauce Pour L'oie
Is Sauce Pour L'état C'est Moi
by Ogden Nash (1902-1971)
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I know, mon Général, it hurts your pride
To see your cherished language Yankeefied,
Your pure, precise Parisian prunes and prisms
Walk cheek by jowl with Americanisms:
Your earnest students of Racine and Zola
Consuming le hot dog and Coca-Cola,
Or roaming through le drugstore in a quest
For paperbacks depicting le Far Oest.
Although I do not wonder that you fuss,
Have you considered what you've done to us?
Just take a gander at your addenda, pardner,
To the heritage of Shakespeare and Ring Lardner.
Let's to the Opal Room, where for a fee
We're seated ringside by a mater d'—
In such crepuscule ambience are we meant
To reach a démarche or perhaps détente?
A young chantoose is facing her premeer.
On her dressing-room chaise lounge lies her brazeer.
Aglow from kneading by a skilled massoose,
Her cheek is pink, her longeray chartroose.
The gourmet meal is guaranteed to please,
Concluding with that hybrid treat, bleu cheese.
I, too, conclude with this observation cursory:
English makes prettier French than vice versary.
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