French Pout
Asnia Asim
Le poulet?
Her supple French pout
Restaurants on hilltops were sculpted for mouths like hers
She handed the menu back with feeble hesitation
Wine-stained fingers
Every waiter smiles because he has to
Bad faith said Sartre
Customer is king said Capitalism
The air was ecstatic
Summer moving in its temper
Tasting freshly shampooed girls
Damp hair, seafoam sandals, perspiration
The air was ecstatic
The sun finally swooning up its belly
With an aristocratic fancy
He rubbed her wrist to ease
He touched her neck twice
His cue to the smiling waiter
And in walked I with my violin
Some fingers are made for costly rings
Her expected cackle of surprise
Cleft through my concerto
On his bent knee a smudge of grass
Her chiffon on his collar
Walked away slowly
My waiter and I
You play for me with more soul he said
I think you love me by now
Wine-stained fingers on my skirt
Apron-muffled secret laughter brighten up the cellar
Restaurants on hilltops were sculpted for mouths like ours
Her supple French pout
Restaurants on hilltops were sculpted for mouths like hers
She handed the menu back with feeble hesitation
Wine-stained fingers
Every waiter smiles because he has to
Bad faith said Sartre
Customer is king said Capitalism
The air was ecstatic
Summer moving in its temper
Tasting freshly shampooed girls
Damp hair, seafoam sandals, perspiration
The air was ecstatic
The sun finally swooning up its belly
With an aristocratic fancy
He rubbed her wrist to ease
He touched her neck twice
His cue to the smiling waiter
And in walked I with my violin
Some fingers are made for costly rings
Her expected cackle of surprise
Cleft through my concerto
On his bent knee a smudge of grass
Her chiffon on his collar
Walked away slowly
My waiter and I
You play for me with more soul he said
I think you love me by now
Wine-stained fingers on my skirt
Apron-muffled secret laughter brighten up the cellar
Restaurants on hilltops were sculpted for mouths like ours
Listen to Asnia read the poem here:
Working notes
This poem juxtaposes two very different types of women being pursued by two equally different men. During conversations with my girlfriends, I sometimes feel that women’s romantic imagination is wonderfully fertile and they can easily daydream about being a rich man’s chi-chi muse to being a waitress making out with another waiter before dessert is served. There is equal enjoyment, fun, and beauty in both scenarios. And the joy of summer, hilltops, music, and secret kisses is no one type’s prerogative, either. I recently came across Sartre’s theory of “bad faith” and it made its way into the poem somehow. He hypothesizes that most of us are acting, playing certain roles, in daily life and sometimes we get so good at the act that we forget who we really are.
About the author
Asnia Asim explores the contours of identity crises, immigration, displacement and art through her poems. Asnia's work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Milo Review, TYPO Magazine, The Wayfarer, Mandala Journal, Timer Creek Review, Desi Writers Lounge, and The Maya Tree. She was winner of the first prize among 1,300 contestants from 108 countries in the 2005 World Bank international essay competition, Building a Secure Future – Seeking Practical Solutions.