Each morning, the French women of Fulham
do cardio in the park next to the French school
where their French children are pupils.
Did they enrol them there because they believe
in the superiority of the French educational
system, or to preserve their Frenchness?
The French women of Fulham hired
a personal coach: he makes them trot
around like mares tamed for dressage.
Did they give up their careers to follow
their husband-entrepreneurs abroad?
None of them is over forty.
They know they are temporary.
Après l'effort, le réconfort:
the French women of Fulham
sit on the terrace of the café
overlooking the muddy park,
recreate a little Paris.
One complains about her British sister-in-law:
She offered me a candle for Christmas!
It’s the kind of present you buy when
you don’t give a damn about the person!
Another one sighs: I never thought I’d miss
watching the Bastille Day military parade on TV…
In a few years' time, they will drive for
two hours each morning to bring their children
to the posh Lycée Français in Kensington.
No more cardio in the park.
Julie Irigaray (21st century) France
Source:
Harana Poetry issue 7, Spring 2021
(NB: this is the preferred layout by the poet, Harana Poetry's is not correct)
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