On Being French

The people here say that I’m French
I say I am not
They tell me I have big blue eyes
Sun colored hair, the lot.
They say, “You’re not one of us!
No one here looks that way.
Your description fits a word we have
And so we say you’re French.”

I tell them this is still not true
And that, “I’m American.”
They ask me, “What’s the difference?”
And why I’ve named this land
“Americans come from America,” I say,
“And French people come from France.
Americans say, “Yes!” “Hello!”
And French people say, “C’est dommage…”

A loquacious look creeps upon their face
And suddenly they exclaim
“Oh I understand, perfectly.
This Frenchman’s American!”